


What is Deserved and What is Owed

by Remy_Writes5



Series: Unrequited Love [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Even dead Jim Moriarty is a sneaky bastard, Grief/Mourning, John just generally having a shit time, M/M, Masturbation, Not Series 2 Compliant, Porn, Sherlock's hilarious attempts at seduction, Suicidal Thoughts, Tragedy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remy_Writes5/pseuds/Remy_Writes5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock deal with the aftermath of Jim Moriarty's death.  Sequel to I'm The Kind of Human Wreckage That You Love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Want You To Want Me

Now Translated into Chinese [here ](http://www.mtslash.com/viewthread.php?tid=45372)

* * *

 

John was home and that was good. But John was back in his old room and that was bad. Sherlock was in agony, to have the thing he wanted so close but unable to have it, to touch it. It was frustrating and awful and Sherlock hated it. Was this how John had felt, being around Sherlock? If so, then Sherlock could almost understand John's relationship with Moriarty.

Almost.

For the most part, Sherlock just didn't get it. John was good, he was moral. Admittedly not completely moral, he had killed people, he enjoyed a good murder almost as much as Sherlock did, he craved danger and excitement. But underneath all that John was a good person, he was Sherlock's antithesis of what it meant to be human. He was Sherlock's moral compass and then John had gone and done something so immoral as sleep with a known killer and Sherlock found his world shaken.

It did not, however, deter Sherlock's wanting. Being in the flat with John now was like a slow torture and Sherlock wanted to end by crossing the space between them and crawling into John's skin. His mind had run rampant with fantasies of stripping John bare and licking every inch of him. Of wrapping his arms around him and feeling the warmth of John seeping into him from their closeness. Of crawling into John's lap as he sat in his chair reading the paper and kissing him until breathing became a necessity.

It made Sherlock's blood boil to think that Moriarty had had all that, had probably done all that. Had seen John in a way Sherlock had not, had been inside him, had spent the night with John in his arms. Sherlock chastised himself for turning down his opportunity to have the same. But Sherlock couldn't waste his time regretting it. No, regrets were a waste and didn't change anything. Instead he focused his energy on getting John to feel that way about him again, to get the bond between them back to how it once had been.

Unfortunately, John was making it extremely difficult. He only talked to Sherlock when he had to, going to work and then coming home and locking himself up in his room. It was rare for them to share a meal together, the only thing they seemed to do together was pass each other on the stairs as one left when the other returned home. It was obvious John was avoiding him and Sherlock needed it to stop.

John refused to come on cases so it would have to happen in the flat. If they could get back to their normal routine, maybe things would start to get better between them. The more time they spent together, the more likely it was that they could renew their friendship.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa staring up at the ceiling and working the problem, running different scenarios. The main issue was that the more time Sherlock spent in the main area of the flat, the more John retreated to his room. He had to find a way to get John out into the open and stop hiding away. He had been so busy lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard the doorbell ring until John went walking past grumbling "I'll get it, shall I?"

Sherlock listened as John shuffled downstairs and talked to whoever was at the door. The spoke for a while and Sherlock was curious as to who it was. They hadn't been expecting anyone, if Lestrade had a case he would have been brought right up. So it must have been someone they didn't know, which made it most likely a client, female going by how long John was talking with them. A distinct giggle came from downstairs, too high pitched even for John's oddly endearing giggle. Definitely female then.

Sherlock felt fury coil in his belly and took an instant dislike to this woman even without meeting her. The last thing he needed at this point was competition for John's affections. He decided instantly to turn down the case even if it was amazingly interesting. She would just have to rely on the incompetence of the police.

Then Sherlock got an idea on how to be sure this new woman would stay far away from John. He started biting his lips, scraping his teeth against them until they were red and swollen. He ran his fingers through his hair until it was properly tousled. Stripping off his clothes, he shoved them under his desk until he was just in his dressing gown, which he tied loosely to show a healthy amount of his chest. He concluded by pinching his nipples until they were red, hard nubs.

With a quick glance in the mirror, he thought he looked fairly debauched. He nodded at his reflection and then opened the door. "John are you coming back to bed or…"

John and the woman turned, both of their eyes widening when they saw Sherlock. It took everything in him to suppress the triumphant grin threatening to break on onto his face. John got over the shock quickly and scowled at Sherlock, his hands curling up into fists.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Sherlock said, pulling his dressing gown closed tighter, feigning modesty. He smiled at the client as he made his way down the stairs and stood closer to John than was necessary. "Who is this, darling?"

"I'm Annie, Annie Holden." The woman introduced herself. She was attractive but not overly so. Nice hair and good teeth. Her nose was just a bit too big for her face and her eyes were too far apart. She was exactly the type John would go for, well in his league so there was no fuss trying to get them interested. She was just old enough to be done with casual sex and getting ready to settle down. Obvious from her tan line as she bent forward to reach out her hand to shake Sherlock's. The shirt she was wearing showed a subtle amount of her cleavage but as she dipped forward, her tan-line showed she had worn much lower cut shirts. There was also a stain on her handbag from when she'd accidentally smudged some lipstick, a much more provocative and darker shade than the one she was currently wearing. She was trying to attract a man but not just for one evening.

Sherlock had to keep himself from growling at her and slamming the door in her face. Instead he easily slipped his arm around John's waist and gave it a light squeeze. "John, how rude of you to keep this poor woman waiting on the doorstep. Why don't you bring her upstairs and make her some tea while I put on something a bit more decent?"

John turned to Sherlock with his teeth clenched, looking ready to start throwing punches. Sherlock simply smiled and gave John a quick peck on the cheek. "John, don't keep the poor girl waiting. It's cold out and she'll catch her death."

John grabbed Sherlock by the front of his dressing gown and pulled him close. Sherlock felt a shiver of anticipation run through him as John angrily manhandled him. He didn't think that would be the type of thing he would enjoy but apparently his body had other ideas as his cock stirred. John had his lips close to Sherlock's ear, his stubble rubbing against his cheek with his face hidden from the client. "I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but the only person who should be worried about death is you." He whispered harshly. "Darling." He added loud enough for the client to hear and then gently pushed Sherlock away.

"Come on Annie." John said leading her upstairs while Sherlock trailed after them, feeling slightly flustered. When he got to the sitting room, Annie was in John's usual chair while John was in the kitchen making tea and being quite noisy about it. Sherlock had to pass through the kitchen to get to his room and he wondered if John would say something else.

Sherlock walked past, his head held high. He would not apologize for his behavior and if John was expecting it, he would have a very long wait indeed. He could feel John's eyes following him as he walked to his room, which is what compelled him to undo his dressing gown just as he got to his bedroom door and slip it off. He threw it onto the bed and kicked the door closed, knowing that John had gotten a fairly decent view of his backside.

He changed quickly, whistling to himself as he did so. He had a client who hopefully would bring him something not boring and said client also believed John and Sherlock were lovers and would therefore keep her grubby hands to herself. He slipped on a crisp white shirt that stretched across his chest so tightly that it struggled to stay closed. He undid one more button than he normally would have and then tucked the shirt into his dark trousers.

When he got to back to the sitting room, John was sitting across from Annie in Sherlock's leather chair. Both of them sipped their tea, chatting as they did so. Sherlock decided to push his luck and sat on the arm of John's chair, putting his arm across the back so it brushed against John's shoulders. "What, no tea for me?" Sherlock asked with a pout.

"If you want tea, make it yourself." John shot back bitterly.

"No matter." Sherlock leaned forward and plucked John's cup from his hand, taking a sip. John glared at him but Sherlock ignored it. "Tell me about the case Miss Holden."

"Hold on a second." John requested, getting out his small notepad and a pen.

"That's my John, always taking down the relevant data." Sherlock said, smiling down at John fondly. The client smiled as well but he caught a flash of jealousy in her eyes.

While she talked, Sherlock tried to pay attention but was somewhat distracted. He had seen a small freckle on John's back, right where his jumper collar ended. He found himself wondering what else he didn't know about John's body, what else was hidden underneath those frumpy clothes. Then he found himself distracted by the smell of John's hair. It smelled like London air and tea and the milk and honey scent of his shampoo. He realized he had an overwhelming urge to drop his face and bury his nose, getting a good whiff of the scent. This led to Sherlock wondering if John's hair would be soft or coarse and so naturally he pushed his fingers up into John's hair and started to stroke. John stiffened for a moment, his whole body going rigid but slowly he seemed to relax as Sherlock worked his fingers through the fine, softness of John's dark blond colored hair.

Sherlock found himself agreeing to take a case with no idea what it entailed. John had managed to be distracting even with the promise of a case. Reluctantly, Sherlock stood up to shake Miss Holden's hand as she left. John went over to the window and watched her get into a cab. The moment it drove away, he turned to Sherlock, his face red with fury.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Problem?" Sherlock asked, wanting to make John sit back down so he could continue running his fingers through his hair. Maybe make him strip down so Sherlock could examine every inch of his body and discover what was there, first with his eyes then with his hands and finally with his tongue.

"You can't just do that!" John insisted, his voice getting louder.

"Do what?"

"That, what you just did. You can't just act like we're a couple."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked in bewilderment. He felt John was blowing this completely out of proportion.

"Because we're not a couple!"

"Irrelevant. I had a perfectly sound reason for how I acted." Sherlock said confidently.

"Which was?"

"She giggled." Sherlock frowned deeply.

"So?"

"She wanted you."

"Again, so what Sherlock. People are allowed to be attracted to me. It doesn't give you the right to act the way you did." John yelled, closing up his notepad and slamming it onto his desk.

"Oh?" Sherlock snarled, closing the distance between him and John in seconds, trapping John against the desk with his hands. "So you're saying you didn't like it?"

"No, I didn't."

"Liar." Sherlock smirked, pressing in closer against him. "Then why were you aroused?"

"I wasn't."

"Halfway through you crossed your legs, trying to hide the way your trousers were starting bulge out."

"How do you know that wasn't about her?" John inquired, quirking up his eyebrow.

"Because I caught you staring at my chest. My shirt is rather tight, isn't it? Any moment these buttons might just pop off."

"Sherlock, stop."

"If I opened your notepad right now and turned to the page you were just writing on, I would find a sentence that had been started but never finished. You began writing, got distracted and had to abandon it to catch up with what she was saying. I find you hopelessly distracting as well. I didn't catch a word she said."

"Sherlock, knock it off."

"You want me, I want you. Let's stop this charade and just fuck already." John looked slightly taken aback by Sherlock's use of such vulgar language, something usually avoided. Sherlock ducked his head down, ready to press his lips to John's when John brought his hand up and stopped him.

"There's just one problem Sherlock." John said narrowing his eyes. "I don't want you."

"You're lying again." Sherlock said with conviction. He had to be lying. Sherlock had already proven that he was the cause of John's erection. Why was he fighting him on this? Why couldn't he just concede so they could have sex? "You could have me over this desk in five seconds if you wanted. Or riding you in one of our chairs. Perhaps if I spread myself open for you on the couch. Getting to either of our bedrooms is a bit longer than I'm willing to wait."

"Sherlock, you're embarrassing yourself." John said trying to shuffle off but Sherlock kept his body firmly pressed against John's, caging him in.

"I'm not embarrassed." Sherlock shrugged, leaning forward so his lips were brushing against John's ears. "And I'm not the one whose erection is poking into my thigh."

"Yeah, well don't flatter yourself, it doesn't take much to give me a stiffy these days."

Sherlock smirked. "But you  _are_ attracted to me?" he hadn't meant for it to come out as a question but it did anyway.

"Well you're attractive."

"But you won't sleep with me?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"No, I won't." John shook his head.

"Why not? You wanted me once, what changed?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, searching John for some sort of answer.

"Jim." John sighed heavily and Sherlock took a step back at the sound of his name. "Jim happened. I moved on Sherlock, sorry. I fell in love with someone else and even though it didn't work out, it doesn't mean I'm just going to fall into your arms the moment you ask me to. Too much has happened Sherlock and just because I moved back into Baker Street doesn't mean that I'm ready to forget it all. And I certainly don't need you throwing yourself at me."

"Throwing myself at you?" Sherlock asked indignantly. "I was not throwing myself at you."

"Really?" John smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "And what would you call it then?"

"Propositioning you." Sherlock corrected.

"Ah, well I decline." John nodded and went upstairs to his room, leaving Sherlock feeling dejected and alone. Still, it wasn't in Sherlock to give up something he wanted that easily. John had been in love with him at one point and Sherlock was confident that he could get things back to the way they were.

XXXX

Sherlock lived for the small moments where he got to touch John. They were few and far between, a brush of an elbow here, fingertips touching there, but all in all it was something. Mostly though, John just drove him crazy. John seemed to have decided that since he'd spoken his piece and told Sherlock he wasn't interested, it was all right for them to cohabitate the entire flat again. So Sherlock saw more of John than he'd seen in weeks, with John strutting about the flat in his well fitted jeans and way too adorable jumpers that Sherlock now knew kept secrets hidden underneath. They were secrets he wanted to unlock and soon.

Sherlock finally got another chance for physical intimacy with John during the Holden case. It turned out she was being blackmailed by someone who had caught her having an affair with a married man. It would have been dreadfully dull if they hadn't discovered the man she was sleeping with was a higher up of a London crime syndicate.

They were running through the streets being chased by two mobsters with guns when Sherlock pulled John through an unmarked door that had been slightly ajar. They tried to keep their breathing as quiet as possible as Sherlock waited to hear the mobster's footsteps go past. He was standing very close to John and it felt like every inch of his skin was electrically charged. John was practically panting in his ear and all he wanted was to press himself flush against him.

Sherlock could just make out John's features in the darkness and could just barely see John staring at him. Their eyes locked and Sherlock saw an opportunity he didn't want to waste. "John." He murmured softly and then pressed his lips to the army doctor's.

Sherlock nipped at John's bottom lip to keep from moaning loudly. He'd been dreaming and remembering the softness of John's lips ever since that first time they'd kissed. He got caught up in  _Yes, Finally, John, John, John, Mine, Yes, Oh God,_ that he couldn't even tell if John was kissing him back. But he definitely noticed that John snapped his head away, breaking the kiss.

"Sherlock." John hissed angrily. "Get your hand off my cock, NOW."

Sherlock looked down and discovered that yes, his hand had in fact slipped down into John's trousers and was currently wrapped around his penis. Sherlock had been so busy worrying about John's lips that he had been hardly paying attention to the rest of what his body was doing. Slowly and carefully, he removed his hand and then held them up in a surrender, stepping away from John.

"Apologies." Sherlock grumbled. "I suppose I misread the situation."

"Yes, I suppose you did." John said, squaring his shoulders before checking to make sure the coast was clear and then disappearing through the door. Sherlock stood there for a long time, analyzing the data and wondering how he could have misread the signs.

XXXX

It was raining as Sherlock and John chased after the cab containing Annie's blackmailer. Sherlock hadn't worn his coat because of this fact, his white button down shirt soaking through in a way he hoped was appealing to John. But as the rain kept pouring down, he really wished he had his coat.

Eventually the car sped up enough to lose them and Sherlock and John gave up the case. Sherlock let out a frustrated groan before it turned into a shiver. John looked over at him and sighed. "You're going to catch your death you bloody great git." John shook his head with a small chuckle. "Well come on then."

John opened his arms and without thinking Sherlock took a few steps forward and collapsed into them. John, even though he was wet as well, was so blissfully warm. Sherlock slipped his arms around John's waist, under his jacket, trying to get some warmth. His body was shaking from the cold but Sherlock hardly noticed, too wrapped up in being pressed against John with John's arms around him.

"We should get you back to the flat." John said, gently rubbing his hand up and down Sherlock's back.

"Can't move." Sherlock mumbled, burying his face in John's neck.

He never wanted to move because John was actually willfully touching him and it was so intimate and wonderful. He wanted more of this, more of John reciprocating the affections Sherlock had. More of John holding him close and showing that he cared.

Unfortunately, a black car pulled up to the curb behind them and Sherlock groaned in protest. John turned his head and noticed the car as well. "Mycroft?" he assumed and Sherlock nodded his head.

John helped Sherlock into the car, which Mycroft was not in, small mercies and all that. There was, however, a pile of blankets, that John took no time in covering Sherlock in. But even when he was wrapped completely in the warmth of them, he rested his head against John's shoulder and sat as near to him as he dared.

XXXX

When they got back to the flat, John lit the fire in the fireplace and made Sherlock tea. For his part, Sherlock changed out of his wet clothes and took a hot shower. Sherlock smiled to himself as he thought about their hug earlier and decided it was a very nice start. It had been physical intimacy initiated by John, which seemed like a step in the right direction.

As he sat in the sitting room, sipping his tea, he felt almost drunk on John. The closeness they shared, even if it was a bit strained lately, was unlike anything he'd ever had before. No one had shown Sherlock the sort of kindness John had and that had to mean something, right? Why was John there if he didn't enjoy Sherlock's company? Sherlock would have to wait and see if John would continue to initiate contact between them. The best thing to do would be to stop any contact on his end and see if John would begin to miss it and therefore start touching Sherlock.

But then John had the nerve to walk through the flat in nothing but a dressing gown, rubbing his hair with a towel after just taking his own hot shower, and everything Sherlock had been planning went straight out of his head. He was going to do something rash and he considered it all John's fault for tormenting him. How was that view of his legs and small sliver of his chest supposed to be enough for anybody? It was like a peek at what was underneath and it was driving Sherlock mental.

Which is how he justified what happened next. He waited until John had retired to his room, calculated how long it would take John to fall asleep and then silently made his way up to John's bedroom. The door creaked slightly when he opened it, making him cringe but John didn't seem to stir. He made his way over to the bed and made sure John really was asleep before he slipped under the covers to join him. He fitted his body against John's and then wrapped his arms around him. He gave a small, contented sigh as he felt that familiar warmth spreading through his skin. He nuzzled at the back of John's neck, placing soft kisses against John's skin.

John shifted, pressing himself back against Sherlock so his arse rubbed against Sherlock's crotch. Sherlock froze, waiting to see if John would wake up. When he didn't, Sherlock ran his hand along John's stomach, mapping his body just like he'd fantasized about. He skipped John's more intimate areas and instead ran his hand along John's leg. He had just gotten to John's knee when John's hand shot out and grabbed Sherlock's wrist.

"What the hell are you doing?" John asked, his voice still groggy from sleep.

"I was cold." Sherlock replied simply.

"That's why we have blankets and a fireplace Sherlock." John said, turning around to face him.

"This was much quicker and convenient." Sherlock gave a one shoulder shrug and wished John would turn back around and go back to sleep.

"Sherlock." John raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. "This has got to stop."

"You hugged me today." Sherlock said accusingly.

"And you think that was an invitation to slip into my bed and molest me in my sleep?"

"I wasn't –"

"Yes, you were." John said through gritted teeth.

Sherlock wiggled closer and pushed one of his legs in between John's. "I can't sleep."

"So?"

"I can't turn my brain off." Sherlock explained further, reaching out and playing with the hem of John's t-shirt.

"Sherlock, get to the point."

"He said." Sherlock slipped his hand under the soft, worn shirt and placed his hand flat against John's stomach. "He said you could help. That you could make it stop."

"Who?" John asked, looking puzzled. "Who said?"

"Moriarty. On the rooftop. He said you would make it so all I could do is feel. I want that John, I want it. John please." Sherlock surged forward, closing his eyes as his lips pressed to John's. It was the briefest contact and suddenly Sherlock hit the floor. It took him a moment to figure out what had happened and to sort himself. As far as he could tell, John had actually pushed him off the bed.

"John?"

"You just stay the hell away from me Sherlock." John shouted, throwing the covers back and sitting on the edge of his bed. "Jesus. Jesus." John covered his face with his hands and Sherlock didn't like it. He didn't like not being able to see John's face. "All this time I thought it was me you wanted."

"It is."

"No it isn't." John yelled, getting to his feet. "You just want some sort of genius brain off switch, which for some reason you think is something I can provide. You don't want ME."

"Of course I do." Sherlock said, jumping to his feet. "I want you John."

"Think about what you said before. I want that. I want it. Nothing about wanting ME."

"I do, I do!" Sherlock insisted, feeling rather helpless. How could John not understand that?

"Get out Sherlock. Get. Out. NOW." John hollered and Sherlock walked out, slamming the door behind him. He went downstairs and started pacing in the sitting room, unable to sit still. How could John be so stupid? Of course Sherlock wanted him. How could he not see that? Did he think Sherlock would go to all this trouble just to turn off his brain? Getting cocaine would be much easier and take a lot less effort. Maybe he should have told John as much. But there was no use talking to him when he was being completely irrational.

Sherlock tugged his fingers through his hair as he paced, wishing he were better at this. He didn't understand how relationships worked or social cues. How was he supposed to be expected to woo someone when he'd never done it in the slightest? He could sham interest for a case but he'd never felt like this before. It had never been real before. And with John, there was a lot at stake.

XXXX

Sherlock was lying on the couch, still working the problem when he heard the front door bang open. He looked around and noticed it was dark outside again. He'd missed an entire day, lost in his thoughts. Where was John?

For an answer to his question, John came stumbling through the door to 221B, tripping over his own feet. Drunk then, very drunk. "Sherlock!" John cried out happily and made his way over.

Sherlock sat up and got ready to help John upstairs to bed but John had a different plan. He made his way over clumsily and crawled into Sherlock's lap, sitting so he was straddling his hips. "Sherlock." John slurred in his drunken state and pressed his cheek to Sherlock's, rubbing them together slightly so his stubble scratched against Sherlock's face. "Fuck me."

"What?" Sherlock gaped at him, pulling away from him but not getting far as long as John was on top of him.

"You think, you think… all the time." John grabbed Sherlock's face and held it in his hands. "And you think you've been waiting for a long time but I will tell you (hiccup) Sherlock Holmes, that I have been waiting longer. Much longer. So I think…I think, I think not as much as you. But I think I get prop-prior-I get to go first."

"John, you're intoxicated." Sherlock said, trying to gently ease John off his lap but the army doctor held firm.

"I'm so horny." John whined, starting to undo the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. "And I think we should fuck."

"No, John, I think you should go to bed."

"Will you be joining me?" John asked, tearing Sherlock's shirt open and running his hands over his chest. Sherlock was not equipped to deal with this thing and dear lord John's hands were hot and talented and everywhere.

"No." Sherlock said but it didn't come out quite as final as he had hoped.

"I want to suck you." John said, starting to kiss down Sherlock's chest. Sherlock bit back a groan. "You want that, don't you Sherly?"

"Oh God." Sherlock did groan, half in distaste of the nickname and half because John had started palming Sherlock's erection through his trousers.

"You want to put your long, thick cock in my mouth?" John asked before dipping his tongue into Sherlock's bellybutton. "You want to see my lips stretched around your prick while you fuck my mouth, hitting the back of my throat?"

"John, stop it." Sherlock swallowed hard, knowing he might not have the strength to derail this situation, especially if John kept speaking like that.

"You want it, but you're not going to get it."

"No?" Sherlock raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Nope." John said bringing his lips up to speak directly into Sherlock's ear. "Because you don't actually want me and when you're having a wank to get rid of this," John trailed a finger over the bulge in Sherlock's trousers. "Just remember who rejected who first."

John got off Sherlock's lap and retreated to his room. Sherlock sat there for a few moments, feeling slightly dazed until he remembered his heavy and throbbing cock, aching for his attention. He ran to the bathroom and stood over the toilet, frantically stroking his cock. He pictured exactly what John had described, John on his knees before him, sucking him down to the root with Sherlock running his fingers through that lovely, soft hair, tugging on it just slightly.

He came with an embarrassingly loud cry of John's name and then sunk to the floor. He haphazardly brought his trousers up and then curled in on himself, dropping his head onto his knees. He forced himself to take deep breaths as he tried to think of the best course of action. How, precisely, was he supposed to deal with this?

XXXX

John awoke with a long groan the next morning and buried his face in his pillow. He felt like shit and he almost never allowed himself to get that drunk, last night being a rare exception. He lifted his head up marginally and saw there was a glass of water and two pills on his nightstand. He smiled slightly and took them quickly, anything to relieve this headache.

Next to the pills was a post-it note with Sherlock's familiar flowery script. John had to squint just to read it.  _Come downstairs when you're up for it and I'll make you tea- SH._ John smiled wider and brought his covers up over his head, needing to hide from the world for just a bit longer.

XXXX

Sherlock sat in his chair, fidgeting as he waited for John to come down. He had no idea what to say but he knew if he was simply kind to John, things might get back to normal. He was listening closely for any noise from John's room, hinting that the man was up. The moment he heard John's door squeak open, Sherlock was on his feet and turning on the kettle.

He busied himself making toast as John came downstairs. He watched John head to the bathroom out of his peripheral vision and waited. John went back into the sitting room and flopped noisily onto the couch. Sherlock wasted no time bringing him his tea and toast, setting it down on the coffee table.

"Any chance you could close the curtains, the sun is a bit much this morning."

Sherlock nodded and drew the curtains, dimming the light in the room. He noticed it made everything seem a bit more intimate and he wasn't ready for that. He quickly started for his room but John called out his name, making him pause.

"You don't have to rush off." John said quietly. "And I think we should probably talk."

"I'm fine." Sherlock insisted. "And you'll be fine once you're over your hangover. No need to talk."

"I still want to, Sherlock, please."

Sherlock took a deep breath and resigned himself to whatever came next. John had sat up and was patting the seat next to him. "You're not going to offer to suck me off again, are you?" Sherlock asked, wary of sitting down next to John.

John chuckled before biting into his toast. "No." he promised and Sherlock sat down next to him on the sofa. He placed his hands on his knees, where they weren't at risk of reaching out to touch John. He grew tired of waiting and started drumming his fingers against his knee.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Last night." John explained. "I don't normally get that pissed and I shouldn't have said those things. I was…"

"Horny." Sherlock supplied.

"Cruel." John filled in. "I don't remember everything I said, but I remember that last bit and I was unnecessarily cruel and I don't want to be. And then you still put out aspirin for me this morning and made me breakfast."

"It's fine, John."

"It's really not Sherlock. I don't care that you've been acting like a madman the last few weeks. You don't deserve what I did last night."

"You were drunk."

"It's not an excuse."

"It is. How can you excuse my behavior but then condemn your own?"

"Because you're not good at this, you've never been good at this."

"At what?"

"People. You know everything about them but you don't understand them at all. You have no notion of boundaries or appropriate times to kiss your flatmate. You don't pick up on stuff like that."

"I know what I'm doing John. I've been trying really hard to get you to notice me."

"Yeah, I've noticed and last night I used that against you to make you feel bad. You rejected me and I guess it still sort of stung."

"I'm not rejecting you now."

"But you did, originally and I don't know what changed your mind, maybe I'll never know if this is just about Jim or if it's about something more. But I don't want our friendship to be about that. I don't want to be mean to you because you're allowed to say no to me Sherlock and I'm allowed to say no to you. It can't be all there is though, it can't be. We're stronger than that, right? We have to be. Whatever this thing is, friendship, something more, it's important for both of us, right?"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded.

"Good." John smiled. "Then we stand a chance."

"I'm glad." Sherlock said, getting up off the couch.

"There's just one more thing Sherlock." John said quickly and Sherlock turned around, dreading what that one thing might be. John was staring down at his hands, not a good sign. "I do want you. I've always wanted you. So I just think you should know that when I turn you down, it's not because I don't want it, it's because I'm not ready."

"So you're saying there could possibly be a point in the future where you will be ready?" Sherlock asked, hoping spreading through his chest.

John looked at the drawn curtains and then at Sherlock, his eyes were slightly glazed over as if he were very far away. "I don't make promises in the dark, they don't mean a thing."

Sherlock nodded and couldn't help feeling that these words held a deeper meaning for John, one that Sherlock didn't understand.

 

 


	2. Don't Trust Me

            John was finally starting to come on cases again and Sherlock hoped that meant that things were getting back to normal. It was their fast case with Scotland Yard since Jim's death and it looked to be an interesting one. A woman hung upside down in what looked like some sort of ritualistic murder if the symbols on her were anything to go by. Sherlock was definitely intrigued and went under the police tape without delay. He held it up for John but John didn't follow him.

Sherlock looked back and saw that Lestrade had his hand on John's arm, holding him back. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, impatient to get to the body. Anderson was taking a look and was no doubt destroying anything useful. He didn't have time for this.

"I'm sorry John, I can't let you in." Lestrade said, giving John an apologetic look. John opened his mouth to respond but Sherlock beat him to it.

"What, why not?" Sherlock asked indignantly. He grabbed John's other arm and tried to pull him through.

"John knew the location of a murderer and bomber responsible for the deaths of countless people. I can't let him in on my crime scene in good faith."

"It's ok, I understand." John nodded and started to pull away.

Sherlock grabbed his arm tighter, not letting him go. "This is ridiculous. John is with me, I need him."

"Sherlock, it's fine." John insisted, trying to get out of Sherlock's grasp again but Sherlock just held on tighter.

"No, it's not." Sherlock said, locking eyes with John for a moment where they just stared at each other, neither of them backing down. They only stopped when Lestrade interrupted them with an impatient cough.

"Frankly, John is lucky that I'm not doing anything more. I could have him brought in for aiding and abetting."

"John was not involved in any of Moriarty's crimes." Sherlock said with conviction, squaring off against Lestrade.

"You don't know that." John contradicted and Sherlock shot him a look to say "Now is not the time"

"Yes, I do." Sherlock said with finality through gritted teeth.

"No you don't."

"Did you?" Lestrade cut in.

"No, I didn't. I'm just making a point. Lestrade is right Sherlock."

"No he isn't!" Sherlock yelled petulantly. John couldn't leave, not when Sherlock had finally started to get him to come on cases again. Things were finally supposed to be getting back to the way they were and Lestrade was ruining it. "Lestrade, Moriarty is dead. What kind of information are you expecting him to pass on to a dead man?"

"He could still be in contact with Moriarty's men.' Lestrade argued.

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock scoffed. "You think Moriarty would give someone such as John a glimpse into the workings of his operation?"

"I could come down." John offered.

"What?"

"What?" Sherlock echoed.

"To the Yard." John clarified as the other two men stared at him incredulously. "If it would help, tell you anything I know. I assume Jim's people will have cleared out everything by now but I'll still give you anything I know if it will help."

"I think it would." Lestrade nodded. "Tomorrow morning."

"Good." John confirmed.

"Right, now that that's settled." Sherlock pulled on John's arm but Lestrade stopped him again.

"I still can't let you in. Not until this whole mess is cleaned up."

"That's ridiculous, you're being idiotic."

"Sherlock, just leave it, yeah?" John said, finally slipping out of Sherlock's hand and fixing his jacket. "I'll see you back at the flat."

Sherlock watched as John walked away, an uncomfortable churning in the pit of his stomach. He turned towards Lestrade and sneered, "I hope you're happy" before going over to stop Anderson from contaminating the evidence.

XXXX

The kettle had just finished boiling when Sherlock came into the flat. John stared at him in confusion. "What happened?"

"Boring case." Sherlock shrugged out of his coat and hung it up.

"No it wasn't." John spoke loudly enough to be heard from the kitchen as he poured two cups of tea. "I know because you had that look."

"What look?" Sherlock called back, flopping into his leather chair.

"You get a sort of gleam in your eye when you think a case will be interesting. Got it the moment you saw the body."

John walked into the sitting room and handed Sherlock his tea before sitting down in his chair across from him. "How observant of you." Sherlock said, trying to feign disinterest while being unbelievably flattered.

"Yeah, well, I've lived with you long enough to know your "excited because the criminal classes aren't being frightfully dull this week" face. So go on, what was it? Why did you turn down the case?"

"No reason." Sherlock shrugged before picking up his tea and taking a sip, making sure not to meet John's gaze.

John seemed to accept that as an answer for a moment until his face clouded over and his brow furrowed. "Oh God Sherlock, this is about me, isn't it? You didn't have to leave the crime scene just because they wouldn't let me in."

"I have no interest in working with idiots." Sherlock scoffed and turned away.

"Sherlock, you shouldn't have done that." John shouted angrily, He slammed his tea down, causing some of it to splash. Sherlock looked over at him, startled.

"I don't understand." Sherlock replied honestly. He would have thought John would be touched by the gesture.

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" John snarled viciously, getting up out of his chair.

"John –"

"A girl is dead Sherlock, she probably had a family and friends that are going to be sitting around, wondering how she died. Not the mention the murderer who gets to run free. What if they need you to solve this and you won't help because of some weird misplaced loyalty to me?"

"It's not misplaced."

"Sherlock, Lestrade was right. How can you of all people not see that? Jim was dangerous and I didn't even think about turning him in. He blew people up, he threatened to blow us up for christ's sake and I still stayed with him."

"You were in a bad place when you met him, he made you care for him."

"Stop." John yelled and Sherlock instantly froze, his mouth gaping open. John took a deep breath before he continued. "Stop trying to make it sound like Jim manipulated me. He didn't. I knew exactly who I was getting involved with and I wanted it anyway."

"One mistake does not mean that you should be condemned for the rest of your life." Sherlock argued, placing his tea back in its saucer and crossing his legs.

John's head hung between his shoulders, chin to his chest, as if he didn't have the strength to support it anymore. Sherlock wanted to go over and comfort him but felt such an act would be unwanted. "I knew there would be consequences for getting involved with Jim and now I have to deal with them. But my problems are not your problems. You don't owe me anything Sherlock."

"Yes, I do."

John chewed on his lower lip and then turned his face away. "You should get back to the crime scene."

"I don't care about the crime scene." Sherlock stated, getting to his feet. John's head snapped to the front as he turned to look at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, you're being an idiot."

"I'm really not. I don't care that you had a relationship with Moriarty. I know you John and I know you never would have told him anything that compromised my safety."

"How? How do you know that? I could have told him everything just so he'd fuck me." John spat out bitterly.

"He told me so, on the roof. He said I had you to thank and that if it hadn't been for your relationship, I would have been dead a long time ago."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" John laughed hollowly, shaking his head.

"It is." Sherlock insisted. "Moriarty died for you John and he would not have given up his life unless he felt it was something worthy. You were important to him."

"It's not an excuse." John insisted, scrubbing his hand over his face in frustration.

"No, but it is an explanation and a satisfactory one as far as I'm concerned. I don't care what the Yarders think, their opinion weighs next to nothing. You haven't let what they've said about me deter you from being in my company, so why would I?"

"You don't get it. I didn't listen to them because I knew they were wrong about you. They're not wrong about me."

John looked unbearably broken, the lines under his eyes deeper than usual. It took until that moment for Sherlock to understand that John was actually feeling the loss of Moriarty. Not just the fall out from their relationship, John actually missed the consulting criminal. That stung more than Sherlock wanted to admit.

John grabbed his jacket and mumbled something about going to the pub. Sherlock stared at him as he stabbed his arms through his coat. There was a giant lump in his throat and a million questions running through his head, questions that begged for answers. Instead he said the only comforting thing he could think of under the circumstances.

"John, I still trust you."

"You shouldn't." John replied before closing the door between them.

XXXX

Sherlock convinced himself that the reason he followed John was because he was worried about him. In truth, he just wanted to know where John was off to. He had claimed the pub but he never would have gone to the pub this early, afraid of drinking too much. John limited himself to four drinks, not counting the one night he'd come home and offered to suck Sherlock off, but then extenuating circumstances.

He wasn't sure where he was expecting John to go. Perhaps to a friend's house or Jim's grave. Instead they ended up at the building where Jim had died. Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around him as he went up the stairs to the rooftop, making sure to stay far enough behind John that he didn't realize Sherlock was there.

When he got to the roof, John was leaning on the ledge, staring out at the Thames. Sherlock approached his quietly, wondering if his presence would be welcome. "You, know you really have to stop following me. People might talk."

"I wanted to be sure you were alright." Sherlock said, making his way over and leaning on the ledge next to John but leaving enough space between them that their bodies weren't touching.

"Really?" John asked, turning towards Sherlock and raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"You seem to be taking Moriarty's death quite hard."

"Yeah, well that's what happens when someone you love dies."

"I didn't expect you to come here, don't most people find returning to the place a loved one died too painful?" Sherlock asked, genuinely curious as to why John had chosen to come here of all places. He knew it was a place of unpleasant memories for him, he could only imagine what it was like for John. 

"This isn't just where he died." John said quietly, turning back to stare out at the river. The sun was just beginning to set, making the sky turn different shades of pink and purple. Had it been under different circumstances, it might have been quite romantic.

"Oh?"

"This was where we had our first date. Right here on this rooftop. We had dinner and shagged. He got me fireworks."

"Is that a euphemism for something?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"No, I mean actual fireworks in the sky." John smiled at the memory.

"Was he…romantic with you?" Sherlock had a difficult time picturing such a thing.

"He could be." John confessed, his smile widening. "Most of the time he was intense, passionate, a bit crazy. He could make me laugh or he could make me feel on edge. Sometimes I hated him and sometimes I loved him. He was unlike anyone I've ever been with. He kept me on my toes yet made me feel safe. I trusted him even though I knew I would probably end up regretting it. Sometimes I thought he was the biggest mistake I was ever going to make and other times I thought he was the best thing that ever happened to me." John took a deep breath and looked over as if he had just remembered that Sherlock was with him. "I'm sorry if this is difficult to hear…"

"No, I mean I asked. It's a bit unimaginable, you two together."

"I think it would be for anyone who didn't know Jim." John nodded, resting his chin in his hand.

"But I did know him." Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"You really didn't." John said with a heavy sigh. "He was…different, with me. Nothing like the man we met in the pool that night, well that's not true. There were hints of that man but that wasn't the Jim I knew, not really. It's hard to explain."

"I am trying John. Trying to understand and be supportive, what have you."

"I know and I appreciate it. I guess I just don't understand it. How can you still trust me after what I did? Is this just because you think you have feelings for me?"

"Think? I don't think John. I am perfectly capable of recognizing human emotion." Sherlock replied, more than a little insulted by that accusation.

"Fine then, how can you be in love with me after I lied to you for months, hid things from you? I knowingly hurt you so how can you even look at me?" John covered his face with his hands in shame. Sherlock grabbed his wrists and forced John to look at him.

"Feelings or not, you are my friend. You're my only friend, actually. But more than that, I know your character John Watson. I knew you before him and I still know you now and you remain the same man who shot a cabbie to save my life only a day after meeting me."

"How do you know, how could you possibly know I'm still that man?"

"You are a good man, John."

"Good men don't fall in love with psychopaths."

"Bad men don't mourn their deaths."

John grew silent for a moment, pinching his lips together and then releasing them in a huff of breath.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John gave him a slight smile.

"What for?" Sherlock dropped John's hands and placed his own in his coat pockets.

"For being my friend, for understanding, for sticking by me after everything that's happened." John stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, resting his head against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock stiffened for a moment, dumbfounded until his brain came back online and he put his arms around John to return the hug. He moved his face forward so John's head was tucked under his chin and for a long time they stayed like that, neither of them pulling away or asking for more.

Sherlock was once again struck by the overwhelming heat radiating off John. It reminded him of having John in his lap, straddling him, having his hands roam over Sherlock's chest. "John I –"

"Yes?" John asked, his voice muffled against Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on nothing more than the warm body against his. It was calming and peaceful and Sherlock remembered Moriarty's words. "Better than any drug." This was the affect of John, from the closeness of him. Sherlock had assumed Moriarty had been talking about sex and maybe that had been a part of it but it wasn't all of it. For some reason John was made to withstand people like him and Jim. The frailty of genius and the eccentricities, the insanity that went with it. But more than that he could calm it, tame it. Only John, only John Watson and he could do it with something as simple as a hug.

That's when Sherlock realized that it wasn't just about wanting this man pressed against him, it was about needing him desperately. He came to realize that more than anything, he was in love with John and he would wait. Because this was enough, just to have John near to him. It was more than enough.

"Nothing." Sherlock said and held John tighter.


	3. All The Things We Never Said

**Six Months Earlier**

Sherlock and John had just finished a case and gorged themselves on too much Chinese food. They were both sated and happy as they made their way up their flat, laughing about how Anderson had been thrown into the Thames by the murderer.

"It's not funny." John chided, wiping away a tear from laughing so hard.

"I beg to differ. If anyone deserved to take a swim in the Thames, it was Anderson." Sherlock chuckled as he went to put the leftovers in the fridge.

"Oh man, that was quite a case." John exhaled loudly and shucked off his coat.

"Not bad at all." Sherlock agreed. The case had been brilliant even before Anderson's unfortunate tumble. He stepped into the living room and froze. John had that look again, the one Sherlock knew. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it on John, hell it wasn't the first time he'd seen it that evening.

In his mind he conjured up images of being at University. Victor Trevor had looked at him like that, like Sherlock was the center of the Universe (not the sun, like John liked to remind him). As if Sherlock was the answer to every question they'd ever asked. He didn't like the weight of expectation that came with that gaze. It had destroyed his friendship with Victor and soon it was going to destroy his friendship with John.

_Please,_ Sherlock's mind begged uselessly.  _Don't make this into something else. Don't ask this of me. I can't. You should know better John. I can't. I'm incapable of giving what you want so please don't. You'll be disappointed. Leave things the way they are, please John._

"Sherlock." John said softly, closing the space between them.

Sherlock's mind raced a mile a minute.  _No, please, stop, don't. We can't go back from this. Please._

And then it was too late and John's lips were pressed gently against his, just the softest pressure and then they were gone. But it was too late, too much and not enough. John pulled away and smiled, his eyes hopeful as he stared up at Sherlock. Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose before he spoke. "Not interested." He said tersely as he made his way through the kitchen to his bedroom without a backwards glance.

He heard the door slam shut before he'd even had a chance to lie down on his bed. He winced at the sound and buried his face in his pillow. The damage was done and there was no going back now. Sherlock buried his face deeper and screamed in frustration.

XXXX

John knew, he knew that going over to Moriarty would be a mistake. But he couldn't exactly just leave it, just leave the criminal mastermind to whatever shit he was currently up to. So reluctantly he slid out of the booth he was in and made his way to the bar. Moriarty licked his lips as John sat in the stool next to him and nonchalantly took a sip of his drink.

"Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing here Moriarty?" John asked, his hand curled into a fist on the bar. "Do I need to get everyone to evacuate?"

"You honestly think I have nothing better to do with my time than blow up pubs?" Jim snorted and took another sip of his beer. "Furthermore, why would I blow up a pub with myself in it?"

"Then why are you here?"

"Why are you?" Jim asked, turning the question around on John.

"Bad night." John answered, taking a large gulp of his drink.

"Clearly. I'd ask why the long face but then I don't really care." Moriarty swirled his stool around and sat backwards with his elbows up on the bar, leaning casually. John's gaze went from his black trainers, up to his well-fitted jeans finally to his Ramones t-shirt, pulled tight across his chest from the way he was leaning on the bar. Jim crossed his legs and smiled, watching John just as closely. 

"You never answered my question." John reminded him.

"That's right, I didn't." Jim grinned enigmatically and John rolled his eyes. A long stretch of silence passed over them as the two men drank their beers. It wasn't wholly uncomfortable, which struck John as odd. Considering how tense the last time they'd met had been, this was downright strange. But it was also nice, to not have to talk about Sherlock, relive his humiliation. Jim said he didn't care why John was there, which meant he could avoid the subject entirely.

"Darts?" Jim finally asked, breaking the silence.

"I'm better at pool." John confessed as Jim hopped down from his bar stool. Moriarty held out his hand and John ignored it and got down himself.

"Good, then I'll probably win." Jim said heading over to the dartboard. John shrugged and followed him, placing his beer on the table by the board and sat backwards in one of the chairs, watching as Moriarty lined himself up. Jim had the pink tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he closed one eye and threw them. Two bulls-eyes and a nine. John clapped and Jim gave a little bow before going to record his score of the chalkboard.

There was only one set of darts so they shared between the two of them. Between each turn their fingertips brushed as they passed them back and forth, causing little jolts of electricity to go surging through John, feeling something akin to tension building betweeen them. "You know with the aim you have with shooting a gun, I assumed you'd be better at this." Jim jeered from one of the chairs as one of the darts didn't even make it onto the board and fell to the floor. John frowned and tried to concentrate but the weight of the darts was awkward in his hand and it had been forever since he'd done this.

It also didn't help that with each turn, Moriarty seemed to be looking at John more and more hungrily, his eyes darkening. His fingers lingered against John's when he passed over the darts. He had a good-natured smile on his face as he made fun of John's throwing that didn't match the intensity of those large brown eyes. John swallowed and shuffled his feet, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

John went to retrieve the darts when he felt a body press up against him as Jim reached up to help. John turned around and felt decidedly trapped as Moriarty pulled the rest of the darts out. He leaned forward and just barely brushed his lips against John's before pulling away.

"Your move doctor." He said, his voice low and breathy and unfairly alluring. John was instantly taken back to earlier that evening, to kissing and rejection. He could still feel Sherlock's lips, still taste him even after trying to cover it with beer. He needed to be rid of it, get it out of his head, think about something else. One thing was for certain, if John kissed Moriarty at that moment, there was no way he would get rejected.

Reacting instinctively, he curled his hand around the back of Moriarty's neck and brought their lips together again. Their lips moved against each other's slowly until Jim opened his mouth. The kiss grew heated and frantic as John felt the first slide of Jim's tongue against his. Jim let out a soft moan as he dropped the darts in favor of putting his hands on John's hips.

John slipped his hand under Jim's shirt and pressed his hand flat against Jim's back. Jim seemed to like that and rolled his hips slowly, showing just how much. John broke the kiss, tilting his head back and away. "No." he said panting and Jim took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. "Not here." John growled and grabbed one of Jim's hands, pulling him towards the back exit.

XXXX

Sherlock was lying on his back, staring up at his ceiling, unable to make his mind stop running. Where was John? What was he doing? He could only hope John wouldn't get in too much trouble. He had a tendency to think even less than usual when he was upset.

But no, most likely he would go to someone's house and crash on their couch. He'd be away for the night and Sherlock found the thought unbearable. He didn't want an empty flat with nothing but his mind for company. He could always go downstairs and talk to Mrs. Hudson but she would undoubtedly ask where John was and that was not a conversation Sherlock wanted to have.

Then a thought struck him. John was out all night, he had the flat to himself. An image swirled in his mind's eye of John kissing him and suddenly it changed into a different outcome. What if he had let go and kissed John back, for once forgetting about the consequences and all the ways it could go wrong? Instead he thought about it going very, very right.

He kissed John back hungrily, John's head tilting back to compensate for the height difference. John pressed Sherlock up against the wall and took control, pinning Sherlock's arms to his sides as his tongue invaded Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock let out a breathy moan.

John broke the kiss but only so he could kiss down to Sherlock's neck, thrusting one muscular thigh in between Sherlock's legs, pressing it against his erection. "John." Sherlock moaned and suddenly he was too hard, straining against his trousers. Sherlock kept his eyes closed and kept the fantasy running as he quickly rid himself of his trousers and pants.

"John, touch me." Sherlock begged helplessly. John had already expertly undone his zip and curled his hand around Sherlock. "Oh." Sherlock gasped, thrusting into John's hand. There was a tiny bit of fluid at the tip that he swirled around with his finger before thrusting again.

"What do you want?" John murmured against his skin.

"I – I – I don't know." Sherlock stammered.

"It's alright." John said soothingly before kissing Sherlock again. "I do."

John pushed a bottle of lubricant into Sherlock's hand, went over the desk and bent himself over it, resting on his forearms. Sherlock stared in awe and stumbled his way over. He reached around to undo John's trousers and pulled them down along with his pants to display his arse.

Sherlock swallowed as he was faced with the gravity of what was going on. "I don't know what I'm doing." He confessed.

"It's alright, I trust you." John said softly, reaching back to take Sherlock's hand and give it a light squeeze.

Sherlock opened the lube and coated his fingers. He knew the basic logistics of what happened during gay sex, even if he had never really participated in it before. He slipped one solitary finger inside John and it was swallowed inside unbelievable heat. He pushed it in as deep as it would go and then retracted it slightly. John groaned and put his head down on the desk.

"Good?" Sherlock asked biting his bottom lip.

"So good." John assured him, pushing back against his finger.

Sherlock pulled his finger further out and pressed back in with two. He spread them and John let out an even louder groan. Sherlock blinked at the sight before him, slightly overwhelmed. In real life Sherlock was stroking himself, his cock at full hardness as he continued to play the scenario in his mind.

He moved his finger in a circle, searching for John's prostate. He knew that was his goal and achieved it when he saw John buck in surprise. "Sherlock." John moaned, clawing at the desk. "I need your cock, now. Put it in me."

"Yes." Sherlock hissed, needing it as well. He pulled his fingers out and applied more lubricant to his cock. Slowly he pushed inside John, feeling him stretch around him. When he was as far in as possible, he stopped to look down at where their bodies were joined, marveling at the sight.

"Sherlock please." John begged, trying to get Sherlock to move. Needing no further permission than that, Sherlock began thrusting into John with abandon. In real life Sherlock had his feet flat on the bed, legs spread as he thrust up into his own fist. He'd never had such a vivid masturbatory tool before. He was on the edge already, jerking himself quickly, imagining he was slamming into John repeatedly while John moaned.

"Yes Sherlock, yes, that's it." Sherlock heard his fantasy John saying and just like that Sherlock was coming, calling out John's name as his release spilled onto his stomach and chest. He kept his eyes closed and waited for his heartbeat and breathing to return to normal.

When he opened his eyes, he looked down at the mess he'd made and was decidedly disgusted with himself. It seemed wrong to fantasize about his flatmate, even if he knew John wanted him too. With a deep sigh, he used his sheet to clean himself off and then went to shower to erase the guilt of what he'd done.

He thought about how much he wanted that, wanted John. Was it worth the risk? Maybe if he simply explained why he was hesitant then John would understand. They could talk this through, come to a decision together. Yes, that was a much better solution than simply running away. John knew what he was doing in situations like this, even if Sherlock didn't. He trusted John and would let John guide him through it.

When he felt clean, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went to change his sheets. He had just finished changing into his pyjamas when he heard the door downstairs and John's unmistakable footsteps ascending the stairs to their flat. Surprised, he went to see why John was back so soon.

The moment he saw him, he almost gasped, biting his tongue to hold it back. John's hair was tousled, his lips red, a slightly bloody lovebite on his neck and he was missing his jumper, why was he missing his jumper? He smelled like sex and Sherlock felt sick the moment he could smell it in his nostrils. He kept his face stoic so John wouldn't see, he couldn't let John see.

"Oh." John said softly and Sherlock felt his cheeks heat up, remembering the things he'd imagined John saying while they fucked. John was blushing as well, obviously embarrassed at having been caught coming home from a one-night stand. "I thought you'd be asleep."

"You came back." Sherlock said, stating the obvious. "I didn't think you were going to."

"Tonight or ever?" John asked, looking down at his hands.

"Tonight." Sherlock said with conviction. There had been no doubt in his mind that John would come back, he just hadn't been expecting it so soon.

"Right." John nodded, still not meeting Sherlock's eye.

"John I –"

"I'm tired." John interjected quickly. "I'm going to bed."

"Of course." Sherlock swallowed around the lump in his throat, his mouth opening with all the things he wanted to say threatening to pour out, but he closed it with a sharp snap.

"Night." John said hurrying upstairs and out of sight.

Sherlock braced himself against the wall and let out a shaky breath, feeling himself starting to hyperventilate. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down but his mind kept conjuring up the images of John. His mind supplied a woman that John had been with, that John had fucked, someone that wasn't Sherlock.

He closed his eyes and tried to think about something else, anything else. Anything other than John with some boring woman, pressing into her, losing himself in her. The images in his mind made him want to vomit. It wasn't how it was supposed to go, they were supposed to talk and work things out. But he hadn't had a chance to say anything significant and now John was upstairs with his door locked. Nothing would be resolved that night but there was still a heaviness in Sherlock's chest. Somehow he had shoved his feet into his shoes and was grabbing his coat, headed for the door. It didn't even register that he was in his pyjamas until he was in front of a counter buying cigarettes and a lighter. The girl at the register looked at him funny but didn't say anything about his current state of dress.

The moment he was outside, he opened the pack and lit one, the familiar buzz of the nicotine running through him with each deep drag. He smoked one, then another, his feet carrying him who knew where. He smoked cigarette after cigarette until he felt sick and his feet had blisters from wearing his shoes with no socks. He hailed a cab and went home with no idea what would happen when he got there.

 


	4. Set Apart This Dream

            The raid on Jim’s flat was fruitless, nothing there led to any insight into Jim’s workings and John had a feeling Jim had cleaned it all out. Still, walking around Jim’s flat, recalling memories of everything that had happened there, was strange and slightly painful. John made his way through the flat, his fingers brushing over things that were completely and utterly familiar and yet not in their dusty state. It seemed Moran hadn’t been back here much either.

            John traveled his way from room to room, watching the police search through Jim’s things. It felt like such an invasion of privacy even with Jim dead. He’d never felt like that before when they were checking through some murderer’s house for clues. Maybe it was simply because it felt like an invasion of _his_ privacy. Every time a police officer looked through a drawer or the couch cushions, John was afraid it might turn up some detail about him so the entire Metropolitan police force would know exactly what he had gotten up to with Jim.

            The only person who didn’t seem to be going over the flat thoroughly was Sherlock, who stayed close to John the entire time. It was almost as if he too was afraid of what he might find there. “Are you alright?” he said quietly to John.

             “I’m fine.” John responded, watching as one man went through the kitchen drawers.

            “Lestrade!” Dimmock called out, waving the DI down the hall. John recognized the room as Jim’s study, the one with the computer screens where he’d often awoken to find Jim there, working a problem. “Over here.”

            Lestrade rushed past and headed for Jim’s study. John sighed and leaned heavily against the wall, Sherlock’s eyes never leaving him. The concerned expression on his face was oddly endearing. John gave him a tentative smile that Sherlock returned.

            “Welcome, Scotland Yard, to my humble abode.”

            Sherlock and John’s eyes widened simultaneously and they turned towards each other as Jim Moriarty’s voice carried from down the hall. They took off running in an instant, sprinting down the hallway until they got to the door Lestrade had disappeared into. They were met with several Jim Moriarty’s, smiling from the computer screens. All the hope that had been bubbling up in John’s chest was deflated immediately. Jim wasn’t there, it was just another recording, another copy.

             “As you may have guessed, there’s nothing here for you to find. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. Oh and Johnny, it’s alright you went to the police.”

            Lestrade and Dimmock turned and John was unsettled by the fact that Jim was also looking in his direction on the screen. He moved a little and Jim’s eyes followed him, a wicked grin blooming on his face. John turned and looked at Sherlock for some sort of explanation and Sherlock simply shrugged.

            “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it if all of London’s finest would get the fuck out of my flat. My people are watching this place and if you’re not all out in five minutes, the building will be blown. So here we go!”

            Jim brought his wrist up and looked at his watch. “Fifteen seconds gone, you better start moving.”

            “Shit.” Lestrade swore and pushed past them towards the door. “Everybody out.”

            “You really think he’s going to blow up the building?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

            “Well he is a bomber, I can’t take that chance.” Lestrade snapped, shouting down the hallway for people to leave. “There’s nothing here anyway.”

            Lestrade shot John a look. “To be fair, he did tell you that.” Sherlock pointed out.

            “Yeah.” Lestrade grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go people, out.”

            He disappeared and Dimmock followed after him. On the screen, Jim was still counting down and John was watching him, a slight smile on his lips. He took a few steps towards the screens and Jim’s eyes followed, giving him a small wink.

            “John, do you think we should…?”

            “He’s not going to blow up the building with me in it.” John said with conviction, placing his hand on the screen.

            “He is not in charge because he is dead John. He’s not here and his people could blow it anyway.”

            “Then leave.” John shrugged, his eyes not leaving Jim’s.

            “John – “

             “Just go Sherlock.”

            John heard Sherlock’s retreating footsteps and he took a small step back, his fingers brushing over the screen and then falling down. He stared up at Jim, slightly in awe. He had no idea how Jim had done this but it was like he was still there, still leaving traces of himself everywhere for John to find. It was almost as if…

            “No John.” Jim said, shaking his head, interrupting John’s thoughts. He had stopped counting.

            “What?” John asked the screen, taken aback.

            “I’m not still alive.” Jim clarified with a smirk. “Even I can’t live through bullets. You are, however, fairly predictable and I know you well enough to know your behavior. I knew you’d bring the cops here eventually so I had this rigged to go off if anyone stepped through that door.”

            Jim pointed to the door to his study and John turned to look. He went over and examined it, finding pressurized pads in the floor and an almost invisible wire running along the floor to the computers. John shook his head and chuckled. “You bastard.”

            “Clever, huh?” Jim wiggled his eyebrows. “But then what else would you expect with me?”

            “I’m sorry.” John said softly, lowering his head.

            “Oh and Sherlock, I know you’re still here so why don’t you come out so we can chat.”

            John turned and sure enough, Sherlock walked hesitantly back into the room. He kept his eyes on the screen, ignoring John’s accusing stare. He walked over and stood beside John, awaiting Moriarty’s instructions. His entire body looked tense as he waited for Moriarty to speak.

            “I want you to take care of our boy here, kay?”

            Sherlock’s eyes darted to John and then back to the screen.

            “I’m sure your current attempts at seduction have been hilariously awful and I’m quite sad I’m not around to see it.”

            Sherlock gawked at the screen, mouth falling open and closed like a fish gasping for air.

            “Just a few tips to help you along. First one being that Johnny here likes when you eat out his arse.” Jim stuck out his tongue and wiggled it, causing John to blush a deep red and look away. When he turned back, Sherlock was looking at him questioningly. “Although I doubt you’ll have the aptitude for it I did.”

            “He also likes things a bit rough, although he prefers slow fucking when he’s feeling affectionate.”

            John covered his face in his hands and shook his head.

            “Also the idea of getting caught turns him on immensely, so public sex is always a good choice.” Moriarty went on cheerfully, laying out John’s sex habits.

            “Cuddling, blow jobs, kinky stuff are all good, phone sex for whatever reasons is out.”

            “Why are you telling me all this?” Sherlock couldn’t help asking the screen version of Jim.

            “Because you’re hopelessly inadequate in this area, poor little virgin detective." Jim made a sad face, pouting his lips and shaking his head condescendingly. "And John deserves to be taken care of. I’m sure you could figure this out on your own eventually but I’d hate to think of John lying there patiently while you fumble through sex.”

            Sherlock stammered at the screen, at a loss for words. Jim turned his attention to John, giving a sad sort of smile.

            “Bye boys!” Jim said, his face changing into a cheerful smile and the screen went dead. John stepped closer and fast-forwarded the recording to see if there was anything else.

            “John, that’s it.” Sherlock said quietly.

            “No, he wouldn’t just end it like that.” John said stubbornly.

            “Why?”

            “Because he can’t!” John shouted, hitting his fist against the desk.

            “John…”

            “That can’t be it.”

            “John…”

            “There has to be something else, he wouldn’t just end it like that. Not him.”

            “John…” Sherlock wrapped his arms around him from behind and pulled him away. John fought him for a moment and then went boneless against him. His head hung low as he stayed completely still and silent in Sherlock’s embrace. “I’m sorry.”

           

                                                            XXXX

 

 

            John was sitting in his bed, back against the headboard with his legs spread, a certain consultant criminal resting between them. Jim had his back against John’s chest, their fingers entwined and Jim’s head resting on John’s shoulder.

            “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” John asked Jim, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

            “What gave it away?” Jim asked with a smirk.

            “Not just you being here but you being at Baker street was my first clue.” John gave Jim’s hand a squeeze.

            “Does it matter?” Jim asked, turning his head slightly so their lips could meet. The kiss was slow and sweet, lips moving against lips until both pairs parted to let the other deeper.

            John slid his arm around Jim’s waist, brushing his fingers over his chest. “God I miss you.” John breathed against Jim’s ear. “It’s like being punched in the chest.”

            “You haven’t been coming to my grave as often.” Jim reminded him, running his hand up and down John’s thigh.

            “I know.” John said solemnly. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I have to try and move on. I – I don’t want to but I need to regain some resemblance of a life.”

            “But you always wear the suit when you come.” Jim smiled and John bent down and kissed his temple.

            “I always do.”

            John reached down and began stroking Jim’s cock, twisting so his thumb rubbed over the head. Jim moaned and melted against him, his eyes fluttering closed. “You do realize I’m not actually here, right? You don’t have to get me off.”

            “I know, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I miss all of it, going to your flat, texting you, never knowing what to expect. God, I would have run away with you if you had asked.”

            Jim let out a heavy sigh, shifting away from John and sitting on the edge of the bed. “No you wouldn’t have.”

            “Yes I would.”

            “You would give up your friends and your job, leave Baker Street and Sherlock behind to live off the grid with me?” Jim said doubtfully.

            “If it meant you staying alive then yes. Why Jim, why did you pull that trigger? I didn’t want you to die for me, I never wanted that.”

            “I told you why on the rooftop. Didn’t you listen?”

            “Yes but I wasn’t…I’m not…”

            “What?”

            “Worth it.” John finished.

            Jim stopped and stared at him for a moment. Slowly he crawled into John’s lap, straddling it while he placed his hands on either side of his face. For a moment Jim just looked at him, eyes moving back and forth, studying him. John felt exposed, which was stupid because he knew Jim was in his head. But even when Jim was alive, it was like he saw too much, maybe even more than Sherlock.

            “You really believe that, don’t you?” Jim said, slightly in awe.

            “Yes.” John nodded. “Nothing I can give is worth trading a life over. Nothing.”

            “Do you honestly believe you’d have two men fighting over you, ready to die for you, if that were true.”

            “But that’s what’s so stupid about it. I’m not special, I’m not interesting, so what the hell did you die for?” John shouted, getting worked up. He exhaled loudly through his nose.

            “John.” Moriarty said softly. “One of the best things about you is that you have no idea what you have to offer. If you did, you’d be an arrogant sod like Sherlock and myself. It makes you humble, which is good. You’re good John, in ways Sherlock and I can’t even begin to understand, you make us want to be good as well so we might be worthy of you.”

            “It’s ridiculous. You’re giving me too much credit.” John shook his head.

            “I’m really not.” Jim assured him. “Speaking of Sherlock…”

            Jim snapped his fingers and suddenly they were downstairs sitting opposite each other in the chairs by the lit fireplace, casting the room in shadow. John looked down and noticed there was a full cup of tea in his hand. Slowly, he brought it to his lips but froze when a loud moan came from somewhere in the room. The lights flickered on and John could see Sherlock sprawled out on the couch, eyes shut tight, having a wank.

            John got up out of his chair and walked over, wondering if Sherlock would stop if he got too close. Did Sherlock even notice John was there? He opened his mouth to say something but then Jim was at his side, putting his hand on John’s shoulder. John turned towards him expectantly.

            Jim stayed silent and stood next to John, both of them watching Sherlock stroke himself, looking needy and a little bit lost in his current state. “John.” He moaned quietly.

            “Why, exactly, are we watching this?”

            “How should I know?” Jim shrugged. “This is your mind, I just live here.”

            “Can we not watch this?” John asked, feeling uncomfortable.

            “How often do you think he masturbates thinking of you?” Jim asked, crossing his arms over his chest and quirking an eyebrow in John’s direction.

            “I have no idea.” John answered honestly.

            “But you like the idea of it, don’t you?” Jim asked, a hint of mischief in his voice. “The idea of him pining over you.”

            “No.” John replied instantly.

            “Not even a little bit?” Jim asked, skeptical of John’s answer. He nudged his shoulder against John’s playfully.

            “No because I remember what it was like pining after him and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.”

            “But that’s the part of you that likes it, revenge.” Jim’s eyes were practically glowing when he said the word.

            “I really don’t.

            “Then why do you picture him like this?” Jim challenged. They both stopped for a moment to watch Sherlock tugging furiously at his cock, his head back and his eyes shut.

            “It’s a dream, I can’t exactly control it.”

            “This isn’t the first time you’ve dreamt this.”

            John closed his eyes and when he opened them, they were back in his room, Jim between his legs sucking him off. Jim dislodged with a wet pop. “Always so anxious to have me go down on you.” He chided shaking his head.

            “You said you liked it.”

            “I do, but not when you want it just so I’ll shut up.” Jim shot back accusingly.

            “It seems that only thing that accomplishes it.”

            “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather have this?” Jim asked and the dream changed again. John was in the same position but this time it was Sherlock between his legs, sucking his cock. Jim was sitting next to him, fully clothed in an expensive suit, his legs crossed at the ankles.

            “Why are you dragging your feet with the whole Sherlock thing?” Jim asked as they watched Sherlock’s dark curls move up and down with his ministrations.

            “Because I’m not ready.” John said, gasping as Sherlock shoved his tongue into the slit.

            “You’ve been waiting for this for almost two years.”

            “It’s too soon.”

            “Two years.” Jim said again.

            John arched up off the bed and moaned as Sherlock took him down to the root. “It’s too soon after you.”

            “I’ve given my blessing, what more are you waiting for?”

            “It would be like I’m betraying you.”

            “John, I’m dead, I don’t actually care about what you do.”

            “Yeah, but I care. I can’t just have this.”

            “Why not?” Jim asked, crawling across the bed until he was kneeling next to Sherlock. He grabbed a fistful of Sherlock’s curls and forced his head up and off. Sherlock was a mess, lips red and swollen, spit dribbling down his chin. “He wants this. He’s practically begged you for it.”

            “John, please.” Sherlock whimpered, wincing as Moriarty pulled his hair tighter.

            “He’s waiting for you Johnny, yours for the taking.”

            “I can’t.” John shook his head.

            “You want this.” Jim sneered, licking the spit off Sherlock’s chin.

            “Stop it.” John said, looking from Sherlock to Jim.

            “Take it.” Jim grinned wickedly and shoved Sherlock’s head down, choking him on John’s cock. John cried out as Jim worked Sherlock’s head up and down.

            “Stop!” John shouted and everything shifted. Sherlock disappeared and instead John was on top of Jim, thrusting into him slowly with Jim’s legs wrapped around him.

            “Better?” Jim asked, carding his fingers through John’s hair.

            “Yes.” John nodded, kissing Jim languidly. His lips trailed over his cheek and to his ear, licking the shell of it before he spoke. “You know why I haven’t done anything with Sherlock.”

            “You’re still going through with your plan then?” Jim asked, staring up at John wide-eyed.

            “Yes.”

            “You shouldn’t. You can have a life here, at Baker Street, with Sherlock. You just have to let me go.”

            “I can’t do that.”

            “I’m already gone John.”

            “Then why does it feel like you’re still here?” John asked, dropping his head onto Jim’s shoulder.

            “You refuse to let me go.”

            “Because I’m still in love with you.” John pushed deeper, making Jim keen and grip him tighter. “I can’t just forget you, be with Sherlock and live like none of it happened.”

            “You can, you just refuse to. I died so you could have a life. So why aren’t you living?”

            “I don’t want this life.”

            “Well, you’re stuck with it, I’m afraid.” Jim put his hand on John’s forehead and pushed.

            John awoke with a start, his eyes snapping open. He looked around his dark and very empty room, still hazy from sleep. He could feel his erection throbbing painfully between his legs and even shifting under the covers was too much. He rubbed his eyes, trying to return to the real world.

            His heart was pounding enough that he could hear it in his ears. Dropping back down onto his pillows, he tried to compose himself after that dream. First things first, he needed to do something about his cock. He reached into his bedside table for his lubricant and also Jim’s phone. He pawed through the drawer in the dark, trying to find it blindly.

            He found the lube but an exhaustive search of the drawer turned up no mobile except his own. Panicked, he threw back the covers and went to turn on the lights. He tore apart his room looking for the phone to no avail. He knew he’d had it earlier that day, he was almost never without it.

            That meant only one thing.

            Someone had taken it. 


	5. Punishment

            “Give it back.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            John had his hand outstretched, placing it directly in front of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock blinked at it and then looked up at John, raising an eyebrow. “My phone, well Jim’s phone, give it back to me.”

            “I don’t have it.” Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, causing John to go from mildly irritated into full on annoyed. He worried his teeth against his bottom lip and tried to keep his anger in check.

            “Don’t give me that. It was in my room, I know it was and now it’s gone. I know Mrs. Hudson didn’t take it and there’s no one else here.” John placed his hands on his hips and waited.

            “I really didn’t take it. Why would I?”

            “Sherlock, the fact that I rarely know why you do what you do is a point of pride with me. I have no idea why you would take the phone, I just know you did.”

            “Well you don’t because I didn’t.”

            “Sherlock, I don’t have time for this. Just give it back.”

            “John, I honestly did not take Moriarty’s phone. There is nothing on there of interest for me. I’ve read and seen enough of your sordid affair with him. The last thing on Earth I want is more information about it.”

            “I will search through your room if I have to.” John threatened, getting up close in Sherlock’s face.            

            For his part, Sherlock kept John’s gaze steadily. “You can if you want. I didn’t take the phone.”

            “Hold on.” John stood up straight and thought back to what Sherlock had said, the words finally sinking in. “Where did you read and see anything on my relationship with Jim?”

            “Oh.” Sherlock’s face fell, realizing his mistake. He grimaced slightly and folded in on himself. “When I believed you were in a relationship with my brother I might have confronted him about it and he told me the truth.”

            “Sherlock, what did you read? What did you see?” John asked frantically. He gripped Sherlock by the shoulders and shook him.

            “Just conversations between the two of you.”

            “And…?”

            “Pictures.”

            “And…?” John said again, louder and more menacing. Sherlock visibly shrunk away from him. Even, steady John was gone and had been replaced by solider John, who did not look afraid of resorting to violence.

            “I saw you two having sex in the lift before I met Moriarty on the roof.”

            “Oh god.” John stepped back as if he’d been electrocuted and crumpled to the floor by his chair. “Oh god, oh god.” John buried his face in his hands. His mind replayed that moment in the lift, his last time with Jim. Sherlock had seen, had witnessed Jim pressed up against the wall, John thrusting up into him with abandon. _Just like the first time Johnny._ Had Jim known they were being watched? Was that the reason for the impromptu sex in the lift? Was he taunting Sherlock?

            “John.” Sherlock said gently as he knelt on the floor in front of his flatmate. He hesitantly raised his hand to place it comfortingly on John’s shoulder but decided better of it.

            “How…how…how…” John seemed to be stuck on the word, his mouth opening but nothing else managed to come out.

            “Mycroft bugged your phone when he learned of your relationship with Moriarty. He thought maybe you were being blackmailed or coerced.” Sherlock gently ran his fingers through John’s fine blond hair, his need to touch overwhelming his sense of self-preservation. John just stared blankly up at him.

            “So you knew? You knew about Jim and I?”

            “Yes.” Sherlock nodded.

            “For how long?”

            “Just a few days.”

            “Why didn’t you say something?”

            “I couldn’t John. What was I supposed to say?”

            “Fair point.” John conceded, dropped his head back onto the seat on his chair. He stared up at the ceiling to avoid looking at Sherlock. He seemed somewhere between lost and horrified, his eyes bugging out of his head and his breathing coming in shallow gasps. “So when you led me to the warehouse, you knew. You lied.”

            “I had to.”

            “Why?” John asked in exasperation.

            “Because I was going there to ask Moriarty to give you up.” Sherlock placed his hands on either side of John’s face and forced his friend to look at him. “I thought he was just using you. In the pictures he was always aware of the camera so I assumed it was a ploy to get to me. I never dreamed he actually cared about you.”

            “Of course not.” John scoffed bitterly. “Why would anyone do something as stupid as fall in love with me?”

            “Don’t be daft John, that isn’t what I meant." Sherlock snapped but then seemed to think better of it. He took a few calming breaths and began again. "I believed he was incapable of loving anyone. He was a deranged psychopath who had threatened both our lives. I thought he had taken you because he knew I wanted you.”

            “Why would he think that?”

            “Because I did. I do.” Sherlock corrected himself. “I thought he saw, that day at the pool. I thought it was part of his plan to burn the heart out of me.”

            “Since no one could ever fall in love with me for just me, it has to be about you.”

            “You’re not listening.” Sherlock shouted with frustration.

            “You’re not explaining properly.” John met his level of irritation.

            “I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t fathom that you might actually…love him or that he might feel the same for you.” Sherlock closed his eyes and placed his forehead gently against John’s. John shifted uneasily from the intimacy of it. When Sherlock opened his eyes, they were deep and pleading, striking yet vulnerable. John couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “John.” Sherlock’s voice was barely audible. He visibly swallowed and started again. “John, I – I haven’t wanted anyone, sexually, in over a decade. But I… I want you. You have no idea how much. It kills me to think that I could have had you but a moment of cowardice allowed you to slip through my fingers.”

            “Sherlock –“

            “Let me finish.” Sherlock interjected desperately. “Please. If I don’t say it all now I never will.”

            John nodded and stayed silent, allowing him to continue.

            “It’s more than that though. It’s more than the physical desire to touch you almost constantly. It’s more than this dull ache in my chest every time I wish to reach out to you and can’t. I haven’t needed anyone since I was four years old. But I _need_ you.”

            “For what?” John asked quietly.

            The corners of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up into a small smile. “Oh, so many things. I can’t afford to lose you John. I can’t…”

            He trailed off, unable to finish. For a moment the two flatmates stared at each other, neither of them doing more than breathing. Then Sherlock closed the tiny amount of space between them, pressing his lips softly against John’s. The kiss was gentle, with just the tiniest flickering of tongues. John broke the kiss after just a few seconds and turned his face away.

            “I’m sorry, Sherlock but having you kiss me is absolutely the last thing I want right now.”

            “You said you would be able to get there.”

            “I did.” John confirmed. “But I’m not there yet. I’m not over him.”

            “Of course.” Sherlock nodded as if he understood but John could tell from his face that he didn’t at all.

            “I have to go.” John used his chair to ease up from the floor, untangling himself from Sherlock.

            “Where are you going?”

            “I figured out who has my phone.”

            “Who?”

            “The only other person who knows about it. The only other person who knows what happened on the roof that day. Someone who can’t keep their large nose out of other people’s business.” John told him, stabbing his arms into his jacket sleeves.

            “Mycroft.” Sherlock got there quickly. He would have realized it sooner if John wasn’t so completely distracting. He sat, rejected and deflated on the floor. A million different wishes ran through his head, things he wanted more than anything. But more than all the rest, Sherlock wanted John to come back and finish their kiss.

            “Mycroft.” John growled before heading out the door.

 

                                                            XXX

 

           

            John had only been to Mycroft’s office a few times and never to his home. So it was lucky that when he burst through the door, looking slightly murderous, Mycroft was sitting behind his desk. Mycroft, not one to be easily intimidated, sat calmly and finished his paperwork while John fumed. John waited exactly ten seconds before he marched over and grabbed Mycroft by his lapels, hauling him out of his chair.

            “Ah, John. How can I help you this evening?” Mycroft asked, calm as you please while staring straight into the face of a manic looking army doctor.

            “First, you will give me Jim’s phone. Second, you will give me any and all tapes, recordings and photographs of my relationship. Third, you will stay the fuck away from me. Fourth, you will stay out of my business. I don’t give a fuck if you’re the British Government like Sherlock says, you bleed like everyone else.”

            “Fascinating to see the influence Jim has had on you.” Mycroft said, unfazed as John gripped him tighter.

            “Where is my phone?” John asked through gritted teeth, his patience waning drastically.

            “I had to confiscate it to be sure there was nothing pertinent on it. After Jim’s flat turned out nothing, this was our last lead.”

            “Last lead for what? Jim is dead.”

            “You’re certain of that doctor?”

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” John let go of Mycroft, giving him a hard shove. “The man died in my arms. Even if I wasn’t a bloody doctor I would be able to tell.”

            “Well then taking his phone was even more necessary.”

            “Necessary for what? There’s was nothing business related on this phone. He had two, the phone you confiscated was for me.”

            “Yes, it’s been thoroughly examined.”

            “And my privacy invaded.” John snarled.

            “I assure you the people who looked it over are very discreet.” Mycroft brushed off his suit and sat back down in his chair.

            “Oh well that it comforting.” John said dryly, looming over Mycroft. He refused to sit down. He was not there for a friendly chat. “And what exactly where you expecting to find?”

            “Jim Moriarty was more than a man.” Mycroft gestured to the chair opposite his desk but John refused to budge. Mycroft gave a slight shrug and continued. “He was the greatest criminal mind the world has ever seen. His organization does not end with his death. But since he is dead, as you’ve assured me, now is the perfect time to take down his empire. They are no doubt a bit lost in his absence, making this the perfect time the take them down. Unfortunately, other than a few names, we’ve very little information on his operations. We know it spanned continents and vast types of crimes. We need all the information we can get.’

            Mycroft stared at John meaningfully. “Oh no. I don’t know a thing about Jim’s business. He kept me out of it and I preferred it that way. Except for Sebastian Moran, who I already told Lestrade about, I never met anyone at Jim’s flat.”

            ‘Yes, Sebastian Moran. Ex-Military, stationed in Iraq. Very effective sniper until he was dishonorably discharged for cruelty towards civilians. He was imprisoned in Siberia for a short time until the charges were mysteriously dropped and an anonymous person bailed him out.”

            “Jim.”

            “Yes. Moran has been working for him ever since. He was most likely one of the snipers at the pool that night. He’s the most likely to take over Moriarty’s empire.”

            “Well I have no idea where he is and the last time I saw him he threatened to kill me, so I’m not in much of a rush to find him.” John informed him, crossing his arms over his chest.

            “John, are you aware of what a Hydra is?” Mycroft asked, leaning back in his chair slightly.

            “No.”

            “It’s a mythical creature. A beast that grows a new head when the previous one has been chopped off. This is what were dealing with. We can’t keep cutting this organization off at the head or a new one will grow back in its place.”

            “What do you want me to do about it?” John asked in aggravation. Just because he was sleeping with the man didn’t mean he’d gotten lessons in how to run a criminal empire 101. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

            “I am merely explaining why I took your phone and why your privacy was invaded. It was necessary in order to stop this monstrosity Jim Moriarty has created.”

            “And I’ve already told you that I don’t know anything.”

            “Well, you had intimate…dealings with Moriarty. We hd to be thorough.” Mycroft sneered, looking at John accusingly. John pressed his lips together to control himself before speaking.

            “What do you mean by that?”

            “Simply that you knew Moriarty on a very personal level.”

            “No, but why did you say it like that, like I’m keeping something secret, like I’m lying.”

            “I wasn’t implying anything John.” Mycroft forced a very fake smile onto his face that John could see through in an instant, but then he supposed Mycroft wasn’t trying to hide his disdain. “No matter what I think of you personally, the facts seem to support your claim.”

            “What the hell does that mean? Don’t beat around the bush Mycroft, if you’ve got something to say to me, say it.”

            Mycroft gave a minute shrug. “You have a strange sense of loyalty Doctor Watson. One small rejection from Sherlock and you go running into the arms of his enemy.”

            “That’s not fair.” John cut in quickly, indignant at the accusation. “I did not go looking for Moriarty.”

            “And yet he found you, curious, isn’t it?”

            “I did not arrange to meet Jim. I wouldn’t have even known how to go about it. And I never passed information to Moriarty, we didn’t talk about Sherlock at all while we were together. I’m offended that you think I would sell your brother out like that.”

            “Can you blame me?”

            “I would never have put Sherlock in harm’s way.” John said with conviction.

            “And yet you couldn’t have hurt him more deeply.”

            “Look, I don’t know what you think happened that night but Sherlock is the one who rejected me. He said no so I found someone else.”

            “Yes and you found the one man bent on destroying my brother.”

            “What happened between Jim and I was very much on accident. I did not go to the pub to get laid, I went to have a drink.”

            “And Jim?” Mycroft raised his eyebrows, everything he wasn’t saying displayed clearly in his expression. “Why was he at the pub?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Curious that he happened the stumble into your favorite pub just after you’d been turned down by Sherlock.”

            “What are you saying, that he knew? That he planned to meet me in the pub and seduce me?”

            “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Mycroft confirmed and John paled. “I had your flat searched after I discovered what had transpired between you and Jim. There were several listening devices found in your flat there were not put there by me.”

            “You think Jim bugged our flat.” John snorted at the absurdity.

            “I am sure of it. Probably some time after your encounter at the pool.”

            “This is ridiculous. Jim Moriarty didn’t seduce me and he looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.”

            “Jim Moriarty is a very talented actor, probably stemming from years of trying to hide his psychopathic tendencies. You saw it yourself at Bart’s when he pretended to work in the IT department and date Molly Hooper. I don’t think it would have taken much to fool you in your flustered state.”

            “I wasn’t flustered!” John shouted, hating that Mycroft seemed to be twisting the facts, changing what happened that night.

            “Never the less, you engaged in a relationship with Jim Moriarty, knowing it would hurt my brother.”

            “Then why did I take such precautions to keep it secret from him?” John felt like he was arguing with a brick wall for all the good it was doing him.

            “Guilt?” Mycroft supplied. “And to think I had once thought you would be good for him.”

            “Why are you blaming me for everything. Why not hold Sherlock accountable for his actions? I kissed him and he turned me down, what else was I supposed to do?”

            “John, do you know the number of real relationships my brother has had?”

            “That’s not –“

            “I’ll give you the answer, it’s zero. Do you know the number of sexual partners my brother has had?”

            “I – “

            “The answer is also zero. Now how exactly was he going to react when the one man he’s allowed to get close to him, the one man he actually cares for, throws himself at him?”

            “I didn’t throw myself at him.” John grumbled.

            “Sherlock was stunned, he retreated, not knowing what else to do.”

            “So what, I was supposed to keep trying and keep getting rejected, hoping one day he’d come around? Hoping for a different result? Isn’t that the definition of insanity?”

            “And what would you call getting involved in a known killer?”

            John clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. “I couldn’t wait around forever.”

            “No, you waited a whole thirty minutes before you and Moriarty were in that alley.”

            John sucked in air through his teeth. This conversation was doing nothing but antagonizing him. He didn’t need to explain himself to Mycroft Holmes of all people. He didn’t even really need to explain himself to Sherlock. The two of them had lied to him, conspired behind his back and now Jim was dead. He didn’t owe anyone a fucking explanation for his actions. He fell in love; it didn’t matter if Jim had orchestrated their meeting or not. There were a million moments, quiet moments that were just his. Seconds upon seconds where it had been just the two of them where John knew exactly how Jim felt about him. Neither of the Holmes brothers would ever be able to understand even if John talked endlessly. He wasn’t even sure he wanted them to understand.

            John forced a smile onto his face, trying to look as pleasant as possible under the circumstances. He held out his hand expectantly. “I’ll be having that phone back now.”

 

                                                            XXXX

 

            John walked back into Baker Street and Sherlock was lying on the couch, reading some article in an attempt to look busy. But the moment John walked in the door, his attention was snatched away. “Have a nice chat with my brother?”

            “Got my phone back.” John said vaguely.

            “That’s good.” Sherlock turned his attention back to the article, trying not to seem to invested.

            John made his way over to the sofa and knelt beside it. Sherlock looked somewhat startled, his eyes wide as he turned his head towards John.

            “Sherlock, when I kissed you that first time, what went through your head?”

            “John -. “

            “Please. I just want to know.”

            “I – I thought ‘no please don’t.’” Sherlock confessed, his face apologetic.

            “Right.” John nodded, getting to his feet. “Great.”

            “John wait.” Sherlock jumped up off the couch. John was already heading up the stairs and Sherlock ran to catch up with him. “I just wasn’t ready for you to kiss me and I didn’t want you to ruin everything we had.”

            John turned, his face fallen. “Bit late for that now, isn’t it.” He said quietly.

            “How long are you planning on punishing me?” Sherlock asked as John started up the steps again.

            “Excuse me?”

            “How long John?” Sherlock walked upstairs, closing the space between them. Those few steps had felt like a crater. John always seemed to be creating distance between them, keeping himself as far away as possible. “How long are you going to punish me for one wrong decision? I know my rejection probably hurt but you have been punishing me for months now.”

            “I haven’t –.”

            “You have.” Sherlock nodded. “You’ve been doing little else where I am concerned.”

            “And killing Jim?” John crossed his arms over his chest. “How long should I punish you for that?”

            “Jim made his decision, his blood is not on my hands.”

            “You lied to me Sherlock. You led me to that warehouse under false pretenses. You brought an army of snipers with you against one man.”

            “A man who almost killed us both or have you forgotten that?”

            “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

            “And what if he had succeeded in shooting me? What if his bullet had hit my heart instead of my shoulder? Would you hold him accountable for my death?” Sherlock inquired angrily.

            “Of course I would have!”

            “But you still would have loved him.”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?” Sherlock gripped John by the shoulders. “Why is he held to a higher standard than myself? Why can you forgive him anything but not me? Why is he more worthy of your love?”

            “Why is it you feel that I owe you something Sherlock? I offered you my love, which you promptly turned down. Why do I owe you something now?”

            “Why him? Why did it have to be him?”

            “Because he was you!” John shouted. He took a deep breath and dropped his head against the wall with a thud. He chuckled bitterly and shook his head. “You had turned me down Sherlock. I offered you everything I had to give and you didn’t want it. And you have _no idea_ how much that hurt. James Moriarty, for all his faults, was the closest to you I could get without actually having _you_. There was only ever one person who could match you Sherlock and so I feel in love with him instead.”

            “John, I didn’t realize…”

            “No, you wouldn’t. Sherlock I could have gone out and started seeing anybody. You never wondered why I ended up with Jim?”

            “You were angry with me, you were punishing me...”

            “You really think I’d be that cruel? That vindictive? Christ Sherlock, you were my best friend. That didn’t change when you turned me down. I wasn’t looking for a way to hurt you.”

            “But you did. God you have no idea how much it killed me to see you happy with someone else, to see exactly what I’d missed out on. I never thought I’d have just one chance to have you and I certainly never thought I’d turn it down. But you _have_ been punishing me for that decision, subconsciously or not, ever since I made it.” Sherlock moved closer, his hands still on John’s shoulders. He bent his elbows as necessary until they pressed together. John stared up at him, dumbfounded, unable to speak. When Sherlock spoke, his voice was low and soft. “When are you going to stop punishing me John?”

            Sherlock brought his face slowly forward and John knew he had enough time to stop it, to turn his head away. Maybe it was just the day he was having, but when Sherlock’s lips pressed against his, John did nothing to stop it. They kissed slowly, with John pinned against the wall and Sherlock clinging to his shoulders.

            Sherlock’s tongue darted out and pressed against John’s lips, which parted for him. John tilted his head back and let Sherlock lead, his tongue sliding and curling against John’s. Sherlock pressed in closer, running his hands down from John’s shoulders, over his chest, until the settled on the waistband of his jeans. The moment the button came undone, John snapped out of his trance like state and quickly grabbed Sherlock’s wrists.

            “Don’t.” John warned, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Not now.”

            “John?” Sherlock asked, his eyes questioning.

            “It’s been a long day and my head is all fuzzy. Maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight. We don’t have to rush it.”

            “Right, of course.”

            “Good night Sherlock.”

            “Could I…” Sherlock bit his bottom lip, weighing his options. “Would you mind if I slept in your bed tonight? Just to sleep.”

            “I guess that would be okay.” John shrugged, wanting to show that he was open to forgiving Sherlock, that he was done punishing him.

            Sherlock smiled widely and rushed back down the stairs. John stared after him in confusion and finally shook his head in bafflement. He trudged up the last few steps to his room and got ready for bed. He had just climbed under the covers when Sherlock appeared in his doorway, dressed in his pyjamas. He had on a grey t-shirt and thin blue pyjama bottoms. He smiled shyly before making his way over. He climbed over John onto the unoccupied side of the bed, his long limbs getting tangled in the sheets.            

            It took them a moment but they finally sorted themselves out. John turned off the lamp on his nightstand and pitched them into darkness. Without the lights, he was hyperaware of Sherlock’s presence in his bed. He turned onto his side, facing away from Sherlock and tried to get comfortable. He succeeded in evening out his breathing and did his best to ignore the strange feeling of someone else being there.

            He felt the bed dip as Sherlock scooted over, fitting his body against John’s. “Is this okay?” Sherlock asked quietly against John’s ear. He slipped his arm around John’s waist and held him against his chest. He could feel the rise and fall as Sherlock breathed, the beating of his heart, which was elevated. It struck him how well their bodies fit together as they spooned, at least it would have if they were actually together. But as it stood, John’s bum was settled perfectly against Sherlock’s crotch, nestled against it in a way that he could feel Sherlock through the thin cotton of his bottoms.

            The room was silent as Sherlock waited for his answer. John reminded himself that he was trying to make amends with Sherlock and he wasn’t wholly uncomfortable. He was just worried about sending the wrong message. But Sherlock was already there, in his bed, wrapped around him. The message was probably already sent. John sighed and brought his hand up so it covered Sherlock’s.

            “It’s fine.” 


	6. Put It Back Together Again

            It was impractical to think John could visit Moriarty’s grave every day. Hell, he couldn’t even make it there as often as he would have liked. Since he had started going on cases with Sherlock again, it left very little free time. Then again Sherlock had always had an ability to monopolize John’s time without John even realizing it.

            So instead John went to Jim’s grave once a month, on the 16th, commemorating Jim’s death. But when John awoke with Sherlock in his arms, his dark curls tickling his nose, he was almost surprised when he looked at his phone and saw the date. There was no way Sherlock could have done it on purpose, slept in John’s bed on the sixth month anniversary of Jim’s death.

            John carefully disentangled himself from his flatmate and went over to his closet to start putting on his suit. His fingers brushed over the familiar fabric, something in his heart clenching. This wasn’t the original suit that Jim had bought him - it wasn’t the one he’d worn to the opera on what felt like their first date or the one he’d worn on the rooftop for their first official dinner together – that one had been destroyed when he’d been stabbed. No this was Jim’s apology suit and it felt fitting that John should wear it on that day.

            Every time he went to Jim’s grave, it was to apologize.

           

            The moment he was dressed, he stopped by his bed and couldn’t help giving Sherlock a kiss on the top of his head. Sherlock barely stirred, snuffling a little in his sleep and burying deeper into the covers. John gave a small smile before turning to leave, flicking off the light as he left.

            John stopped by the florists before heading to the graveyard. He bought a single red rose, the thorns still on, and carried it carefully with two fingers. He decided to walk, enjoying the rather sunny September morning.

            When he got to the graveyard, he had the distinctive feeling like someone was watching him. _Good,_ he thought, placing the red rose down at the head of the grave. He wasn’t comfortable with this; he had always felt strange trying to talk to the dead as if they could hear you. He knew part of it was to make him feel better but it didn’t. All it did was remind him that Jim wasn’t there to answer him and that it was all his fault.

            John closed his eyes and waited. _Come on,_ John pleaded, knowing Moran must be out there somewhere. _Come on you bastard. You promised._

            But then he could hardly expect anyone to keep their promises after everything that had happened. It would be too much to hope for.

            John opened his eyes and sighed. He supposed it would have been too easy, too much wishful thinking that Moran would be there that day. Trained killers probably had more important things to do. He crouched down and patted the edge of the dirt that made up Jim’s grave. “I’m sorry.” He whispered and looked up at the sky. He didn’t really believe that people who died were up in the sky looking down at you and even if that were true, he doubted Jim would make it into heaven.

            John wiped his eyes, he hadn’t even realized he was crying, and stood. As he did, a flicker of light caught his eye – a glimmer in the trees - and he smiled. _Finally._

_JOHN._

            John vaguely heard someone calling his name but his eyes were closed as he waited for the inevitable whistling sound of a long range bullet heading in his direction. He felt all the tension bleed out of his body, like a weight being lifted. This was what he deserved and he welcomed it gladly.

            “JOHN!” The voice was closer and broke through John’s peaceful state. He turned in time to see Sherlock running towards him. “Get down!” he shouted right before tackling John to the ground. John slid across the grass and heard the bullet land right where he’d been.

            “Move!” Sherlock yelled, wrapping his arms around John and flipping them over, rolling across the dirt and grass as another bullet was shot at them.

            “Sherlock, what the fuck are you doing?” John hollered as Sherlock got to his feet and hauled John up.

            “Trying to save your life.” Sherlock snapped back and dragged John behind a large oak tree. He peeked around the side, probably looking for any sign of Moran. The shooting had stopped but that didn’t mean he was gone.

            “Did you think that maybe I didn’t want you to save my life?” John whispered back harshly.

            “I know, that’s why I had to.” Sherlock countered, still trying to peer through the leaves to find the sniper.            

            “What? Sherlock why did –“

            Seemingly satisfied that Moran was not going to try and shoot them again, Sherlock grabbed John by the arm and shoved him roughly against the tree. A bit of bark went into his back and John yelped in pain. “Jesus fuck Sherlock, what are you doing?”

            “No what are you doing?” Sherlock hissed, his eyes dark and narrowed. “I will not let you kill yourself over Jim Moriarty John. I will stop you by any means necessary.”

            “I wasn’t going to kill myself.”

            “No, you were just going to stand there and let Moran shoot you.” Sherlock gave him another hard shove and John winced in pain.

            “I wasn’t –“

            “I know what I saw!” Sherlock shouted and John looked away in shame. Sherlock crowded him against the tree so he was whispering into John’s ear, his mouth upturned in a vicious sneer. “Do you have any idea at all what my life was like before you came into it?”

            “You don’t really talk about it.” John shrugged minutely.

            “For a good reason. I was miserable John, more so than you can possibly imagine. You think I would let you do this? You left me for two months and even that made me so distraught that I planned on breaking into your depressing little flat and dragging you back to Baker street.”

            “Really?” John looked up with a slightly amused smirk on his face. He couldn’t help being a bit flattered.

            “But you came back.” Sherlock raised his hand and gently caressed John’s cheek. John’s eyes fluttered closed from the contact. “But you never really did, did you? I kept wondering why you had bothered. You didn’t want to be there and you refused to move on. It was because of this, wasn’t it? You were never planning on staying.”

            “Look at where we are Sherlock.”

            “I’m aware of where we are John, I did follow you here.” Sherlock said impatiently.

            “Look.” John grabbed Sherlock’s chin and wrenched his face to the side so he was staring at Jim’s grave. “I did this. He’s there because of me and I can’t –“

            John stopped, his tongue suddenly thick in his mouth, the corners of his eyes wetting. “I can’t live with myself anymore Sherlock. Do you understand that? I can’t have this weighing on me anymore. A man is dead and it’s all my fault.”

            “You know that isn’t true.”

            “Yes it is!” John shouted, his hands clenching into fists, his sadness dissolving into anger.

            “So this is your penance is it? A life for a life?”

            “Maybe.”

            “I won’t let you.”

            “Fuck off Sherlock, this isn’t about you.” John brought his arm back and hit Sherlock square in the jaw, hoping it might solidify his point. Sherlock stumbled, wiping his cut lip on his sleeve before going back. “Do you want to get hit again?” John asked through clenched teeth.

            “Yes.”

            “You want me to hit you.” John stared at him disbelievingly.

            “If that’s what it takes.” Sherlock shrugged and put his hands behind his back, communicating that he wouldn’t fight John back.

            “Come on.” John started seeing red, every emotion bleeding away until there was nothing left but anger. John hit Sherlock again, this time punching him in the stomach. Sherlock doubled over but still refused to fight. “ _Come on!”_ John grabbed Sherlock’s lapels on his coat and shook him.

            “No.” Sherlock refused to budge.  

            “Please.” John’s entire body shook with a sob and he fell to his knees, still clutching Sherlock’s coat. “Hit me, punish me, do something.” John begged on his knees.

            “No.” Sherlock dropped to his knees as well and took John’s face in his hands. “This isn’t what you deserve.”

            “Fine, then tell me Sherlock, what is it I deserve?” John asked miserably, his hands barely holding onto Sherlock’s coat. Sherlock grabbed John around the middle and pulled him close.

            “Me.” He whispered. “I don’t need you to be in love with me John. I just need you to stay with me. I need… I need…”

            “What?” John asked softly, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck.

            “You. I need you John. I don’t know if that’s enough of a reason for you to stay but it’s all I have.” Sherlock stroked his hand through John’s hair and held him, hoping that it would be enough to keep him.            

            John brought his face up and kissed Sherlock gently, carefully avoiding his split lip. When he pulled away, his eyes were closed and Sherlock couldn’t read anything off his face. His heart pounded loudly as he waited for John’s answer.

            “It’s enough.” John nodded, his eyes opening as he gave Sherlock a hesitant smile, which he returned. “It’s enough.”

 

                                                            XXXX

 

           

            When they got back to Baker Street, Sherlock instantly set off for the kitchen. “Do you want tea, I’ll make it.” Sherlock offered. Under normal circumstances this would have made John ecstatic. Instead he just shook his head.

            “No thank you.”

            “Are you sure?” Sherlock looked slightly lost for a moment until he switched tactics. “Breakfast. You left early this morning, you’re probably hungry. I could go down to Speedy’s and get us something. One of those bacon sandwiches you like.”

            Sherlock had removed his coat but he retrieved it and slipped it back on. His hand was outstretched for the door handle but John slid in the way. Sherlock’s knuckles bumped against the crotch of John’s jeans and he instantly removed his hand, looking away in embarrassment.

            “Why are you suddenly so nervous?” John asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

            “I’m not.” Sherlock shook his head, still unable to meet John’s eye.

            “Sherlock…” John said patiently while waiting for Sherlock to explain.

            “I’m concerned you might kiss me.” Sherlock informed him curtly.

            “So…?” John asked, confused. This would hardly be the first time.

            “So it might progress beyond that.”

            “And that would be bad because…” John prompted helpfully.

            “I might be bad at it.” Sherlock bit his bottom lip and turned away his face away, rubbing his hands together nervously. John couldn’t help the giggle that escaped his lips. Sherlock frowned at him. “It is perfectly valid to be nervous about something one has never done before.”

            John’s laughter was cut dead as his mouth dropped open. “Never as in –“

            “As in not once.”

            “Oh.” John looked dumbfounded. “You had said it had been ten years but I had sort of assumed there had been someone before the very large gap.”

            “There was.” Sherlock cleared his throat nervously. Victor wasn’t exactly a topic he mentioned often. “There was someone but we never…”

            “Slow is good.” John laced his fingers through Sherlock’s. “I wasn’t going to rush into anything like I did the last time.”

            “I would… appreciate that.” Sherlock let a smile slowly spread across his face, watching the one currently taking over John’s.

            “But I can kiss you, right?” John asked, licking his lips.

            “Of course.” Sherlock nodded.

            John tugged on their hands and led them to the sofa. He sat down first and then pulled Sherlock to him, having him straddle his thighs. John kept his hands decidedly on Sherlock’s shoulders, safe where they wouldn’t wander.

            John was good at kissing. He knew he was good at kissing. It took him less than a minute to make Sherlock moan before turning him into a veritable puddle in John’s hands. He had his hands resting on the back of the sofa but they soon found their way into John’s hair.

            Licks and nips with tongues and teeth had Sherlock whimpering. A possessive spark lit inside John and he growled in the back of his throat, grabbing Sherlock by his magnificent bum and pulling him down hard. Sherlock gasped into John’s mouth as his cock made contact with John’s stomach.

            “Do that again.” Sherlock instructed, his voice deep and gravely with arousal.

            John grabbed him around the middle and practically threw him onto the sofa, landing flat on his back, before John crawled on top of him and captured his lips. Sherlock felt his cock leak a bit and discovered that yes, he did like being manhandled by John.

            John ground his hips down and Sherlock keened, letting out an embarrassingly loud groan. “John please, before I die of sexual frustration.”

            “No such thing.” John kissed his way down Sherlock’s jaw and settled at his neck.

            “John…” Sherlock half moaned, half whined.

            “I thought you didn’t want to –“

            “I changed my mind.”

            “Positive?”

            “Yes.” Sherlock nodded and John propped himself up to look into Sherlock’s eyes. He didn’t see any flicker of doubt there so he conceded and reached down between them. He unfastened both their trousers and pushed them down to mid-thigh. Taking them both in hand, he began to thrust. Sherlock threw his head back, elongating that perfect neck, and Christ was that a sight. John pressed his lips to that pale throat as his cock rubbed against Sherlock’s.

            “John.” Sherlock moaned wantonly, wrapping his legs around John and pushing him to keep going, as if he had any intention of stopping.

            “Jesus. Fuck. Sh – Sherlock –“ A thin sheen of sweat broke out over John’s skin from the effort. Sherlock’s cock was leaking heavily, his eyes glazed over. He dragged his fingernails down John’s back and John could feel it even through his layers of clothing.

            John could only hope Sherlock was close, his own orgasm fast approaching. His balls had tightened and he felt on the edge. Sherlock looked ready to come but for some reason he wasn’t. He looked almost frightened and something in John almost broke at the sight of how vulnerable Sherlock looked.

            “I’m here.” John said quietly, raising his hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.” John kissed Sherlock deeply, feeling Sherlock’s chest heaving against his own. “Please give me this. You don’t owe me anything Sherlock and I don’t deserve it but please. I love you.”

            Sherlock dug his nails into John’s shoulder as his body quivered and his release spilled between them. John let go of his own cock and took Sherlock’s in hand, gently stroking him through the after shocks.

            Sherlock had his eyes closed, his face turned away as if in shame. “Hey, hey.” John gently pressed his lips to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. “What is it?”

            When Sherlock opened his eyes, his face was blank, unreadable and John knew instantly that it was a mask. “No.” he shook his head. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you dare hide from me after everything that’s happened.”

            “I don’t know what you mean.”

            “You bloody well do. Now talk to me.” John said with his jaw clenched.

            Sherlock maneuvered his way out from under John and redid his trousers. He paced the sitting room, careful not to look at John with his fly still open and his penis still somewhat erect. It had waned slightly but was still there, present in Sherlock peripheral vision.

            Finally Sherlock stopped moving and took a deep breath through his nose. “I don’t like sex.”

            “You didn’t enjoy it?” John’s brow furrowed and Sherlock looked away, disliking making John feel as if he had done something wrong. It wasn’t John’s fault that Sherlock was wired wrong.

            “I – “

            Sherlock looked slightly helpless, standing in the middle of the room with his shoulders slumped. John wanted to close the space between them but he wasn’t certain it would be a welcome gesture.

            “I kept thinking about Moriarty, at the end there.”

            “Oh well that’s nice to hear.” John snorted.

            “About what he said.” Sherlock clarified. “He was right. You did manage to turn off my brain. I just… I didn’t like the feeling. And I knew, I knew you’d expect this of me. That’s why I said no in the first place, why I turned you down. I knew I couldn’t give you this. But you want it and I can’t give it to you. I don’t like having my brain shut off. I don’t like being unable to _think_.”

            “Okay.” John shrugged and sat back against the cushions.

            “Okay?” Sherlock stared at his flatmate incredulously. “That’s it?”

            “Sherlock, if you don’t enjoy sex, there isn’t much I can do about it, is there?” John stood up and refastened his trousers, tucking himself back in. “I’m not going to force myself on you. I’m not going to make you have sex with me just so we can be together. If you just want to be friends then we can just be friends.”

            “I don’t want to be your friend.” Sherlock spat back indignantly, his hands clenched into fists.

            “Then what?” John challenged, coming over to Sherlock and invading his personal space. “What is it you want from me Sherlock? You said sex was what you wanted, you begged me to touch you and the second you lose a tiny bit of control you’re calling it quits. So what am I supposed to do?”

            “I don’t know!” Sherlock shouted. He grabbed two fistfuls of his own hair and started yanking in frustration.

            “Hey! Stop it. Sherlock stop!” John cried out desperately, grabbing a hold of Sherlock’s arm and trying to get his hands out of his hair. Sherlock grabbed him in return and spun him until John’s back was pressed up against the wall and Sherlock was kissing him hard.

            Sherlock made a needy sound in the back of his throat and pressed his body so close to John’s it felt like he was trying to meld them together. John broke away, gasping for air as Sherlock buried his face in John’s hair.

            “Sherlock, if this is going to work you have to trust me.”

            “I do.”

            “Maybe you don’t trust me as much as you thought you did. I saw your face and you were terrified to let go in front of me. And maybe I don’t deserve your trust after everything I did. But we can rebuild it.”

            “So what does that mean?” Sherlock murmured against John’s hair.

            “It means we’re friends.”

            Sherlock pulled away and checked to see if John was joking. “But –“

            “Let me finish. We’re friends but you can kiss me whenever you want and you can also sleep in my bed whenever you want.”

            “How is that different from being together?”

            “Because I’m not going to touch you again in a sexual manner until you decide you can trust me enough to let go.”

            “It’s not about trusting you. I don’t like losing myself. My brain is the most important part everything else is – “

            “- Just transport, I know. You’ve said before. But Sherlock, you’re not going to lose your mind from an orgasm. I may be good in bed but I’m not that good.” John gave him a wry smile, trying to ease the tension.

            “That’s what it felt like though.” Sherlock told him quietly.

            “Sex can feel like that sometimes, like someone is taking you apart, unraveling you.”

            “Yes. Yes exactly.”

            “But if you trusted me, you’d trust me to put you back together again. I hope some day you can.” John blanched at the odd expression on Sherlock’s face. “Why are you smiling like that?”

            Sherlock put his lips in between his teeth but even that could stop him smiling. “You’re in love with me.”

            “Yeah, so?” John asked in confusion.

            “I don’t know, it just – it feels good.”

            John chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

            “You said I could kiss you whenever I wanted right?” Sherlock asked, his smile turning a bit mischievous.

            “Yes.” John said slowly, smirking knowingly.

            “Can I now?”

            “No one’s stopping you.”

            John was still grinning when Sherlock’s lips pressed against his. 


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!! If you would like the happy Johnlock sort of ending, I suggest you don't read this part.

**October 16 th  - One Month Later **

Jim Moriarty stood at the edge of the graveyard, watching the scene unfold before him. John Watson stood at his grave with Sherlock Holmes next to him. He placed a single red rose on the pile of dirt and then stood back up. He looked better than the last time Jim had seen him and Jim felt equal parts relieved and angry.

            He had on a hoodie and jeans, the hood pulled up to cover his face. He doubted John would recognize him, even if the ex-army doctor would think to look, which he probably wouldn’t since he had always been painfully unobservant. But Sherlock on the other hand was a different story so Jim kept the hood obscuring as much of his face as possible. He had headphones in, listening to Sherlock and John’s conversation. He’d had a microphone planted months ago, buried slightly in the dirt but still clearly heard.

             “You didn’t have to come with me.” John told Sherlock, giving him a small smile.

            “I don’t mind.” Sherlock shrugged, wrapping his coat tighter around himself. It was a chilly Autumn morning but the sun was surprisingly bright in the sky.

            Someone grabbed Jim by the shoulder, his buds falling from his ears and interrupting his listening. “We’ve got to go.” Sebastian informed him.

            “Fine.” Jim snapped, annoyed at having been interrupted. He risked one last glance at John but he was already walking away, his arm around Sherlock’s waist. “Give me a minute.”

            Seb nodded and went to start up his car. It was a silver Jag XK120 and a bit more conspicuous than Jim would have liked but he had to applaud the sniper’s choice, sleek and elegant.

            Jim hurried to the grave where he was supposedly buried, the leaves crunching under his feet. He made sure John and Sherlock were out of sight before bending down and picking up the rose John had left. He smiled when he saw the thorns were still on the stem.

            Pushing his hood back, he went to where Sebastian had the car idling, waiting for him. He slipped into the passenger seat, jumping into the car without opening the door. He placed the rose up to his nose and inhaled deeply, the scent calming him.

            “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were alive Jim.” Moran said gruffly, lighting a cigarette. “I’m almost killed Watson.”

            “Good thing you didn’t,” Jim replied, glaring at him. “You would have regretted it.”

            “Jesus Jim, that stunt you pulled on the roof. How could you not tell me?”

            “It was necessary.” Jim shot back tersely.

            “One day you’re going to explain everything to me.”

            “I wouldn’t count on it.”

            Jim went into the glove box and pulled out his sunglasses. He shoved them onto his face and sat back in his seat, lounging comfortably with his face tilted up towards the sun. He twirled the rose between his fingers and smiled.

            “When we get to the hotel, I want you to get in contact with Irene Adler. Tell her it’s time.” Jim informed his right hand man as they raced through London. After such a long time away, it was good to be back in his city again.

            “Yes boss.”

            Jim started peeling the flower petals away. _He loves me, he loves me not._ When there was only one petal left, Jim’s smile widened.

            _He loves me._

Jim watched as it slipped through his fingertips and went sailing through the air. Nothing was left but the thorny stem.

            Jim retrieved his phone out of his pocket and slid the bar to unlock it. He came face to face with the object of his affection and his fingers traced the lines of John’s face. He felt a familiar thrum of anticipation coursing through him as he thought of how soon they were to reuniting. As soon as everything was in place with Irene, Jim would make his move.

             “You’re sure about this Jim?” Moran asked, shouting over the roar of the engine and the wind whipping past.

            “Oh yes.” Jim nodded, forcing himself to put his phone away. He’d have the real John in his arms soon enough. The thought made him giddy. “I feel like misbehaving.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Reichenbach'd! As you've probably guessed, the next part is going to be a retelling of ASiB but to fit into this universe. Right now it'll be titled Maybe We Can Find New Ways To Fall Apart but that is subject to change. It'll have Sherlock and Jim fighting over John in a more active capacity because that is, if you haven't noticed, one of my favorite things. Hopefully I'll see you all there and if not, thank you for reading!


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